


The Road More Travelled

by Seldarius



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 21:38:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 33,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16648298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Seldarius/pseuds/Seldarius
Summary: The Inspector has chosen a different path for his life. Now it is Phryne's part to be happy for him - and to keep him safe from harm, even if that means to spoil his wedding day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This one's not an old copy, but a brandnew fic. Enjoy.

The letter arrived on a rainy Monday morning. Miss Phryne Fisher was curled up on the window seat in her parlour, balancing on her lap a cup of tea and the newspaper, half-heartedly wondering if any of the headlines warranted her to get dressed, when Mr. Butler laid the heavy envelope into her hand. He looked worried, which may have been the first indication that something was wrong. A look at the fine paper was enough to give Miss Fisher a glimpse of what news it might bring, but in an act of bravery she slit it open anyway, ensuring the smile stayed attached to her still bare lips as she read:

  _ **The honour of your presence is requested at the marriage of** _

  _ **Mrs Concetta Fabrizzi**_

_**to** _

_**Detective-Inspector John Robinson jr** _

  _ **Saturday, the eighteenth of October** _

_**nineteen twentynine** _

_**at half after nine o’clock** _

_**St Ambrose Church, Brunswick** _

 “Thank you, Mr Butler,” she heard herself say trough the fog. The servant had no choice but to retreat with a polite word and a last, concerned look at his mistress. Phryne sat still, holding the prescious paper between trembling fingers. The smile had slipped in the absence of an audience. She’d expected the letter, of course. Only a week ago, Jack had sat opposite her, fidgeting with his tumbler as he had all night and confessed that he was engaged to be married. And she had made sure to congratulate him sincerely. Then she had claimed a rather insincere headache and ushered him out the door before her composure had had a chance to crumble.

 Of course, he would get married again eventually. Jack was the marrying type – which she was very much not. It was just a surprisingly quick development really. She’d always rather thought she’d see it coming, have time to prepare herself. Concetta’s appearance had blind-sided her, not least due to the fact that he had known her longer than herself. And now he was going to marry her. On Saturday, the eighteenth.

 “Mr Butler?” she called. He materialized in the door a moment later.

 “Miss Fisher?”

“Do I have any prior engagements next Saturday?”

 “I do not believe so, Miss.”

 Disappointment slipped briefly over the dazed features.

 “Right. In that case, I will attend the Inspector’s wedding.”

 “Very well, Miss.”

 Mr Butler vanished as quickly as he had appeared. Phryne took no note of his absence. She twisted the heavy paper between her fingers, wondering absent-mindedly just how much money Jack would have had to lay down for the invitations alone. Riches were hard to amount in his chosen profession and the ones he had collected had probably suffered in the divorce from Rosie Sanderson. She wondered briefly is she could offer her assistance but abandoned the thought immediately. No, she would not take too keen an interest in this particular attempt at matrimony.

 Her blurry eye caught on the even curls of ink. It wasn’t Jack’s hand, her detective’s mind pointed out. Concetta could be no stranger to what they shared, though surely she knew no details. But she was neither spiteful enough to declare Miss Fisher a bridesmaid, nor cruel enough to exclude her. Jack had chosen and he had chosen well. This fact pained Phryne the most and yet gave her the deepest satisfaction. Concetta would make him a good wife. She would send him out into the dangerous world with a packed lunch and the assurance of her understated worries and at night he would return home to her hot meals and warm arms. He would be happy. Or at least, content. It was more than she herself could offer.

 With that last realisation she sat down her cup, brushed some crumbs from her morning gown and pulled herself up to her full height. Jack would get married. And she would be a graceful guest, wishing the happy couple well. She was almost entirely certain she could handle that. She’d managed to hold on to her resolution until she’d reached the door and the telephone began to ring.

 X

 Alessandro Bricelli was a little shorter than she had imagined him by his voice, but he was a handsome man, his beard neatly trimmed, the clothes not expensive yet neat. There was a thin smile when she sat across from him on the table, but his dark eyes remained haunted.

 “Thank you for coming, Miss Fisher,” he said in his soft, deep timbre, slightly coloured with the leftovers of an Italian heritage. She nodded curtly.

“I had very little choice in the matter,” she said, setting down her bag and gloves. “You sounded very mysterious on the telephone and you will find I am too curious a woman to pass up on such promise.”

 She gave him a winning smile, which he mirrored to some extent. He truly was very handsome.

“Sadly what I have to tell you is not pleasant,” he continued, then paused, wringing his hands over the table. He reminded her somewhat of Jack, she suddenly realised. He looked up sharply.

 “I’m lead to believe you are familiar with the Camorra?” he asked. Phryne squinted at him, too many questions on her mind to voice them all.

 “I’ve dabbled,” she answered, truth and carefully.

 “Well, in that case I am certain you have noticed that they are dangerous,” he whispered, his eyes darting across the small restaurant, as if worried that the walls may have ears. Phryne thought about this. She hadn’t given much mind to the dangers they’d walked in at the time, but she knew that Jack had been scared. The Inspector wasn’t scared of much. And now he was intent on marrying Concetta, granddaughter of the Padrino. While Phryne knew that the engagement had happened only under the condition that she would turn her back on her family, that didn’t release the knots rapidly building in her stomach.

 “Surely you haven’t brought me here to warn me of the dangers of this city,” Miss Fisher said, smilingly.

 “No, I have brought you here because I need your help,” Alessandro said in a rush. “I myself have managed to steer clear of them, but my brother Marco, the fool, he has been working for them. They are planning something, I know.”

 He stopped, his eyes darting around the tea room, but the people around them were busy devouring scones and sandwiches and paid no mind to the couple in the dark corner.

 Miss Fisher remembered to breathe in time before she opened her mouth to speak.

“Do you have any details?”

 “No, nothing. Just things I've overheard and this...”

 He pulled a small booklet from his shirt pocket. Phryne turned the leather bound item between her fingers before she flipped it open.

 “It’s my brother’s ‘work book’,” Alessandro whispered. “He writes all the relevant details on his jobs in there. Contacts, spots, he’s using it for finding the weak spots to attack.”

 Phryne riffled through the pages. There were lots and lots of notes, dates, places. Nothing of it made any sense to her at present.

 "So, what is it that you would like me to do?" she asked, after closing the book gently.

 "There is a woman..." he said slowly. Phryne raised a thin eyebrow at him and he lifted his hands in a defensive gesture. "A childhood friend, no more. But I care for her."

 "You believe her in danger?" Phryne asked.

 "My brother... he mentioned her name on the telephone the other night. I am scared that she is involved in some way. Whatever it is, I want her out of it."

 There was something in his eyes that startled Phryne, but she had no time to ponder it. He pulled a picture from his pocket, laid it in front of her. Her heart stopped. From the black and white photograph a familiar, beautiful face looked back at her. It was several years old but there was no doubt that it showed Concetta Fabrizzi.

 “Will you help me?” Alessandro asked.

 Miss Fisher nodded dimly. There was no room for words, only one thing occupying her whole mind.

 Jack!


	2. Chapter 2

The red Hispano shot through the streets with terribly little concern to the puddles still interrupting the road nor the people who got splashed in its wake. City South Police Station lay in the grim day like a haven of peace when the car stopped with screeching tyres, spitting a woman in a blue dress onto the sidewalk. She straightened her hat as she swept through the door and threw a brief greeting at the officer behind the counter, whose eyes followed her stunned when she stormed into DI Robinson's office without knocking. 

"Jack, I need to speak to you urgent…"

Phryne stopped herself when she realised that Jack was not alone. He looked up from where he had been in conversation with a lady of about fifty, wrapped in a flowery dress, and gave her a grim smile. 

"Good morning, Miss Fisher! Would you be so kind as to wait outside until I am done with Mrs. Johnson here?" he asked with a cutting edge to his voice, which she didn't dare argue with.  
Mrs. Johnson also turned in her chair and looked at Miss Fisher with something very akin to annoyance. Phryne rolled her eyes, but turned on her heels and retreated outside, her hips swinging as she slammed the door behind herself. As soon as she was out of his sight, she leaned against the wall, let her lids slip shut and the cold stone calm her ragged breath. She hadn't stopped running since she'd realised that he might be in danger. How dare he be preoccupied? 

"Is everything all right, Miss?" Hugh Collins' voice asked. Her eyes snapped open and took in the young policeman, holding a glass of amber liquid in his hand. 

"Thank you, I'm fine," she said, taking the drink and gulping it down in one big swig. Hugh closed his mouth again, which he had opened in an attempt at protest. 

"The brandy was for Mrs. Johnson," he said accusingly when Miss Fisher pressed the empty glass back into his hand. "For her nerves." 

"I can't imagine she had a worse morning than myself," Phryne said calmly. Hugh knew better than to argue and went to pour Mrs. Johnson another glass. 

"What's exactly happened to her nerves?" Phryne asked, when he again attempted to pass her and enter the Inspector's office. 

"Somebody broke into her house," Hugh whispered, then opened the door to deliver his glass before it could again disappear. Phryne watched him through the opened door. Mrs. Johnson seemed to have moved closer to Jack within the last minute, gesturing heavily. Phryne could tell by the way he held himself, the lines around his mouth, that he was annoyed, but his patience never slipped for a moment. Hugh, on some errant or another bustled out the other door, leaving her to eavesdrop into the conversation. 

"Here is a list of the jewellery, most of it belonged to my mother, God rest her soul, but some of it were presents from admirers." 

Mrs. Johnson paused at this, looking meaningfully at the Inspector. Phryne bit her lip. If she knew that Jack was engaged to be married within the fortnight? Probably not. There were no telling rings on a man's finger, so the only way to know was to be privy to their thoughts - or to receive a wedding invitation in the mail. Jack seemed to sense her unbidden presence that very moment and looked up. His eyes hadn't changed. In fact nothing about him seemed to have altered at all. He was still Jack. Just not 'her Jack' any longer. 

His eyes still rested thoughtfully on her, while he made some attempts at wrapping up the conversation in front of him. Mrs. Johnson struggled hard against leaving, but in the end the Inspector's firm promises to find the man and her stolen goods couldn't be argued with. 

"Well, you had better make sure to find them. My grandmother's brooch alone would be such a loss..." 

Jack gently maneuvered her towards the exit, where Phryne still stood, watching the scene with calm eyes. The lady glanced at her in passing and all but scowled. Phryne gave her her brightest smile. 

Once one visitor was gone, Jack turned to the other. 

"Miss Fisher, what a surprise." 

He gestured for her to step ahead into his office, an invitation she followed before it had been completed. 

"I assume you have come about the murder of Mr Geoffrey?" he asked, taking his place behind the desk. "In fact I was rather astonished when you didn't make an appearance at the crime scene."  
There were many questions in his statement beyond the obvious. Miss Fisher stood somewhat lost in the middle of the room and bit her lip. 

"I'm afraid I don't know anything about Mr Geoffrey," she said after a long moment.  
He frowned at this. 

"Not losing your touch, are you, Miss Fisher?" 

There was a challenge in his eyes which she ignored. 

"I've come to you about another, rather... delicate matter," she said. He gestured at the chair opposite his, but instead she sat down on the edge of his desk. She may have imagined his back stiffen at her proximity. 

"Jack, how much is your future wife involved in the dealings of her family?" she asked after a long moment. His frown deepened. 

"Concetta?" 

"Do you have any other fiancees lined up I should know about?" 

He shook his head slightly, his eyes staring blankly past her. His distance was beginning to infuriate her. 

"Concetta knows nothing about her father's business dealings, she assured me of that." 

"And you believe her?" 

Finally his eyes found hers. 

"Of course, I believe her." 

"I see." 

Phryne smiled brightly. 

"Miss Fisher, why are you here? Other than to establish the criminal entanglements of my future wife?" 

"Isn't that reason enough?" Phryne asked. 

"It would be if there were any such entanglements," he said firmly. "Which there are not."  
There was a pause in which he looked at her with a strange expression, questions written through his eyes. Phryne chewed on her lip, smudging the red colour ever so slightly. 

"My newest client appears to disagree," she said. She pulled the photograph from her handbag and laid it down in front of Jack. He gulped. 

"His brother is involved with the Camorra and he believes Concetta to be somehow part of their current plot." 

The Inspector stared at the picture for a long moment, then handed it back to her. 

"Do you have any evidence other than an old photograph and the word of a criminal?" 

"Alessandro is no criminal,", Phryne protested, producing the small bound book. "This belongs to his brother. But I cannot make any sense of it." 

"Mr Alessandro at least appears to be a thief," Jack said calmly, flicking through the booklet. Phryne rolled her eyes at him. Several minutes went past while he riffled through the leaves. 

"I cannot seem to find Concetta's name here anywhere," he finally stated with some satisfaction. 

"I told you, he heard her name mentioned on the telephone." 

She hadn't told him, but that was of no matter. Jack stared at her for a moment, seemingly coming to a decision. When he talked again, his voice had changed. 

"Maybe your friend misheard, Miss Fisher. They may have been talking of a different Concetta. Who knows, it might even have been part of a social call. I am well aware that Concetta's family is very much involved with the Camorra but as long as your friend Alessandro produces no solid evidence to point to her directly, I'd rather you and your..." he gulped, "...legs would not sit on my desk, spouting groundless conspiracy theories." 

He rose. 

"And now if you'll excuse me, I have a murder to solve." 

Miss Fisher looked after him as he donned his hat and fled the office. Evidence? Since when did Jack need evidence from her for her 'conspiracy theories'? But if it was proof he wanted, she would find proof for him.


	3. Chapter 3

 

Jack was actually in no particular hurry to investigate Mr Geoffrey's death. He rather suspected that the kitchen knife had been driven through the man's ribcage by his wife, who he had established this morning was having an affair with the victim's brother. What surprised him was that Mrs Geoffrey had missed how very little her lover cared for her. Malcolm Geoffrey would leave his mistress before his brother was resting in the ground. A messy business, love.

No, none of this was currently the Inspector's main concern, though he headed obediently to the morgue to confirm the knowledge he already possessed with Dr Mac.

Despite himself, Phryne's suspicions echoed in his ears. Concetta involved with the Camorra? He couldn't imagine how. She had never made the impression that she cared for the Strano's 'family business' at all and decided to leave the restaurant and her father's house the minute they had gotten engaged. Now she lived in a small house with her brother Vincenzo, who was himself still reeling from the loss of his love and had as little desire to be involved in the feuds and criminal activities as his sister. Then again, leaving a connection like this behind wasn't easily accomplished and he suspected that only the fact that they were children of the Padrino saved them from the wrath of his fellow men. Things would change once they were married. She would live with her husband then, of course. The thought of having someone to come home to rendered Jack giddy with excitement, covering each and every doubt that might sneak through his mind in the dead of night.

The Inspector parked the car still deep in thought and took the stairs two steps at a time. He'd never been particularly fond of poking around in dead bodies, but today it seemed even more hassle than usual.

He found Mac at a side table, her back turned to him, staring down at something hidden from his view in full concentration. After a few moments he cleared his throat loudly. She flinched, but had caught herself before she'd turned.

"Inspector, so good of you to come."

He ignored her sarcasm, twisted his hat between his hands.

"I'm here for the results on Mr Geoffrey," he said calmly.

"Naturally." She gave him a searching smile and for the first time he wondered how much she knew of recent developments. And how deep exactly her disapproval ran.

"This should be a quick visit," Jack said, stepping towards the covered body on the table, resting his hand beside the lifeless head. "The cause of death seemed rather obvious in the knife sticking from his chest."

"I'm afraid you'd lose that wager," Mac said calmly, joining him. He looked up at her, his brows rising in astonishment. The doctor flicked back the sheet covering the body, causing him to blink at the sudden exposure of waxy skin. She pointed at a large stab wound in the chest, now sans the offending weapon.

"You may notice the acute absence of any kind of blood or bruising," she said, explaining her point.

Jack swallowed.

"So... he was stabbed after his death?"

"It appears so."

"So, what did he die of?"

Mac shrugged, while she gently pulled the sheet back up, then gestured at the hair.

"Have you noticed that our victim is follicly challenged?" she asked. Jack starred at the almost bold head.

"Naturally, but that seemed largely irrelevant at the time."

"Well, it's not."

To emphasize this, Mac pulled on a thin strand of remaining hair which came away without much resistance.

"Poison?" Jack asked.

"Thallium, I suspect. A highly toxic metal, odourless, tasteless. Can be absorbed through oral consumption, inhalation, even through the skin. It tends to lead to a painful, slow death."

Jack carefully retrieved his hand from the table.

"A single gram will do the trick," the doctor explained, slipping off her gloves.

"But why should Mrs Geoffrey stab her husband after she poisoned him?" Jack thought aloud.

"Maybe she wanted to make really sure he was dead?" Mac said dryly and measured him with a long side-glance that made him suspect she'd rather felt the urge to take a knife to him as well.

"Thank you," Jack mumbled, turning his hat between his fingers. It made no sense. Poison was the murder weapon of choice for people who tried to do away with their loved ones without making a scene. A kitchen knife to the chest, on the other hand, was bound to throw up some dust.

He realised that Mac was ignoring him again, having returned her attention to some jar or other. Without anybody to share his thoughts with, Jack quietly slipped his hat back on and trundled down the stairs, feeling the acute absence of Miss Fisher.

 

X

The elderly woman looked up from her soup pot as her son entered.

"Did you speak to her?"

He nodded. She waited while he sat down and poured himself a glass of water from the waiting carafe.

"Well, did you tell her the truth?"

"Of course not. She wouldn't help me if I did."

She mumbled something of which only the word 'codardo' was audible. Alessandro drained his glass and stood, slamming the kitchen door shut behind himself. Emma Bricelli sighed loudly and returned her attention to the Ribollita simmering away. In her experience, soup was easier to deal with than people. You just added the right ingredients and everything tasted good every single time. Whatever she had added wrong to her son's lives she wasn't entirely certain, but somewhere along the way she must have grabbed for the wrong container.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the warm welcome. I appreciate all your thoughts and comments, even if I haven't gotten round to answering every single one of you yet.

 

Miss Fisher was currently enjoying a very good meal at Strano's, along with the thrill of carefully tasting her wine for any traces of arsenic. She hadn't exactly left the family behind on a friendly note after the last case which had led her here. But then she was yet to spot anybody she'd recognised. It should not have surprised her. Concetta surely had had to cut ties with the restaurant along with her father in order to satisfy Jack. The Inspector would never allow his loyalty to the law to be drawn into question. Not even by his wife.

The word still was lying so very odd on her tongue that it caused Miss Fisher to cough up a gulp of Chianti. Only a lightning-fast grasp for the napkin saved the white table cloths from a sprinkling of red. When she resurfaced, a worried looking young women was hovering beside her.

"Are you alright, Miss?"

She forced herself to smile.

"Perfectly. The wine. It went down the wrong throat, I'm afraid."

There was still concern lingering on the young woman's olive features.

"Can I bring you some water?"

Phryne gently shook her head and fished for her glass, demonstratively emptying it in one big gulp.

"If I could have more of your fabulous Chianti. And a second glass."

The girl bustled away. Phryne looked after her, thinking. The girl was quite a bit younger than Concetta, but she thought she traced a faint resemblance. She might be helpful. Only moments later the waitress returned, a half-empty bottle in hand. Phryne took it from her hands and gestured for her to sit down.

"Please, keep me company."

The woman glanced briefly around herself, but only a few guests had braved the rain outside to head out for luncheon and all seemed satisfied at this point in time. Hesitantly she sat, allowed Phryne to fill both glasses with ruby liquid. She still looked uneasy, but took a small sip of the offering.

"What's your name?" Miss Fisher asked, after swallowing another gulp of the admittedly delicious wine.

"Sofia, Miss."

Phryne smiled as broadly as she could manage while she introduced herself. No recognition was dawning on Sofia's face, so it appeared safe to proceed.

"And you are... related to the Strano family?" she asked when the conversation had dried up.

The girl nodded nervously.

"Antonio Strano is my nonno, my... grandfather" she explained after a while. Phryne tilted her head at her. She wasn't aware that either Concetta or Vincenzo had children. So, another sibling?

"I have been here many times," she embellished the truth somewhat. "But I have never seen you before."

Sofia smiled.

"I'm afraid there have been some family developments, leaving the restaurant short of hands." She again glanced around herself. "I really do not wish to work here, Miss Fisher, but I have no choice." Miss Fisher tilted her head at this, but stayed quiet.

"It is the famiglia," Sofia explained without any further prodding. "How can I say no when they need my help?"

"How indeed?" Phryne said lightly, taking another sip. The liquid slipped warm and heavy over her tongue. "But forgive me, I always thought Concetta and Vincenzo provided more than enough hands for their father."

Now Sofia really looked scared and Miss Fisher almost felt sorry for her.

"They have both turned the back on Pappa Antonio," she whispered. Then she dropped her voice further. "Mama says Concetta will marry a poliziotto. He is furious with her."

Phryne held onto her smile with some difficulty.

"Surely there is nothing wrong with a policeman?" she asked brightly, draining her Chianti.

Sofia rose, taking the empty glass with herself..

"They have caused many problems for my family, Miss Fisher," she said. "Many problems. Gianni seems nice enough, but he remains a poliziotto. We cannot trust him."

Phryne nodded slowly at this. When the woman tried to walk past her, she caught her arm.

"And yet... Concetta wants to marry him?" she asked. Sofia squinted at her.

"Why are you so interested in this?"

Phryne smiled, shrugging her shoulders.

"No reason. I'm just curious."

Sofia straightened her shoulders.

"Concetta is mad with love. But the famiglia will take care of her."

She shook Phryne's hand off and was gone before the detective had time to sort away the strange feeling the words left in the depth of her stomach.

 

X

 

Detective-Inspector Robinson peeled meanwhile the wet overcoat from his shoulders and sank behind his desk. Despite having thought of little else than the murder on the way back to City South, he could not make any sense of it. Had two people tried to kill Jonathan Geoffrey at the same time and the second had simply come too late? Or was it some strange game the murderer was playing?

Miss Fisher's perfume was still hanging in the air, giving him a headache and he rose to open the window. The rain had ceased for the moment, but the air smelled fresh and wet. He stood for a while, staring thoughtfully out into the quiet street. Miss Fisher's lack of interest in his investigations was hard to fathom, though he couldn't help the suspicion that she was actively avoiding him. Jack couldn't blame her. He hadn't been to her house since the night he had made a full confession and he wasn't certain if he would be welcome. Had their roles been reversed, he knew beyond certainty that he'd have sought distance as fast as humanly possible to save at least a scrape of his heart and dignity. But then, Miss Fisher had appeared untouched, her appearance immaculate as usual, her smile perfectly serene. So, maybe he was imagining things.

He sat back behind his desk, mindlessly flicking through reports. After about thirty minutes of passing time like this, he stood, grasped for his still damp coat and left again.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somehow Chapter 4 seems to have gotten stuck in the system last night. Ooops. Apologies for any confusion my inability to post things has caused.

The smile beaming at him when the door was answered made it all worth while. Jack felt his worries melt away as a pair of warm arms pulled him into the gloomy hallway. Her hot mouth had found his before the door had closed behind them. In the dark world behind his lashes there was nothing but her taste and smell and the feel of her body against his. He would have liked to stay like this forever.

"Ciao," she finally said breathlessly against his lips, a smile colouring her voice.

"Ciao," he echoed, unable to remove the grin glued to his own face, even as he let her go and allowed her to drag him into the sitting room.

"I had not expected you until tonight," Concetta said while she peeled him out of his coat and ushered him onto the sofa.

"Would you like me to leave?" Jack asked.

"No." She grinned broadly, slipping down beside him. Outside the rain picked up again, drumming a steady rhythm against the glass. Jack didn't mind. Concetta's fingertips left a burning trail on the fabric of his pants as she carelessly touched his thigh on the search for his fingers.

"I have missed you," she whispered, like sharing a sweet secret.

She wrapped their hands together and pulled his to her lips. Jack glanced at her profile, took in her gorgeous features and felt his heart again fill with a now familiar joy. There was something breathtakingly beautiful to simply sitting with a woman who played no games, who did not lure him nor push him away, but simply wore her heart on her sleeve. A heart that was his.

She felt his eyes on herself and looked at him questioningly.

"Are you alright?" she asked. "You are very quiet today."

Jack gulped. He had feared that he couldn't hide this from her.

"Do you... Miss Fisher believes that there might be some danger looming from your family," he finally said.

A shadow slipped over Concetta's features.

"Does she? Your friend is very concerned about you, is she not?"

The glimpse of jealousy he caught surprised him. So far the two women had been very civilized towards each other - at least if you ignored Phryne accusing Concetta of being in bed with the Camorra.

"She appears more concerned about you than myself," he explained truthfully, if not quite honestly.

The dark shadows disappeared as quickly as they had come.

"Please thank your friend, but ask her not to worry. Pappa is a complicated man, but he will not allow harm to come to us."

A small sound at the front door distracted Jack from his answer. His hand automatically slipped to where his weapon should be, but found only emptiness. He had not felt he needed his pistol today. Concetta watched him with some confusion.

"Ciao, Vincenzo," she called into the hall and Jack released the breath he'd been holding. With a pointed look, Concetta stood to greet her brother. Vincenzo Strano's drenched figure appeared moments later in the sitting room.

"Ahh, Gianni, I do not believe you are to be with my sister without chaperone," he grinned, shaking the other man's hand. "It is scandalous."

Jack grinned.

"Gianni is too worried today to attempt anything scandalous," Concetta said with a smile.

The Inspector suddenly felt embarrassed. He witnessed the siblings exchange some quick words in Italian. Vincenzo squinted at him in wonder for a brief moment, then aimed another question at his sister, which she answered calmly.

"Your Miss Fisher is out again to stir up trouble?" he finally asked Jack.

"Miss Fisher does not stir up trouble without reason," the Inspector heard himself say to his surprise. "If she says there is danger looming, one does well to believe her."

He hadn't, he suddenly realised. He'd been blinded by his wish to escape from her proximity and the luring doubts that always came with it. He glanced at his fiancee. No, there was no way she was involved in any plots against him. But maybe Phryne had gotten the wrong end of the stick. Maybe it was Concetta who was in danger. He needed to see Miss Fisher and hear the whole story.

He was about to rise and excuse himself when he realised that Concetta had bustled away towards the kitchen. Moments later his arm was caught by Vincenzo and his voice dropped to a whisper, he asked: "What do you know about their plans?"

"Not enough," Jack said, confused by the sudden turn of events. This seemed to somewhat calm Vincenzo and he let go of him.

"Do you believe she's in danger?" the Inspector asked quietly.

"Who knows? The Camorra are.. how do you say... unpredictable."

There was silence for a long moment in which the rain drummed heavily.

"Concetta believes she is safe, but I am not so sure," he finally said quietly. "Once you are married. Have you thought about leaving Melbourne? Live somewhere quietly?"

Jack sucked a shocked breath through his teeth. Leave Melbourne? He couldn't imagine where he would go. What he would do with his life.

"I'm a police officer," he protested. Vincenzo smiled mildly.

"That will not stop them if they decide you are in the way."

He patted the Inspector's shoulder in what was attempting to be a calming fashion.

"I do not say that they will. But promise me you will think about it."

Jack swallowed hard, but nodded.

"I will."

Vincenzo appeared satisfied and excused himself to finally change out of his wet clothes before the Inspector had had a chance to catch his breath.

 


	6. Chapter 6

 

 

Jack's intentions to swing by Miss Fisher's house on the way home, as he had done a thousand times before, weakened as soon as he got into the motorcar. For several minutes he sat, his hands curled around the stirring wheel, unable to come to a decision. He could see her in front of him, wrapped in some glamorous frock or another, handing him a tumbler of her best whisky, before effortlessly slipping into discussions about murder. He _needed_ her to sort his thoughts. But he couldn't bear her nearness. After what felt like an eternity, he started the car and made his way back to City South. He would telephone her in the morning.

His arrival at the station was obvious cause for some relief in Constable Foster, who had replaced Hugh Collins behind the desk.

"Sir, Mrs Geoffrey is waiting in the interview room."

The Inspector frowned before a vague memory resurfaced of having asked Collins to call her in. Several hours ago.

"Thank you, Foster," he mumbled, already on his way down the hall. Mrs Geoffrey was a woman of 35, pretty, in an old-fashioned sort of way. Her blonde hair was carefully curled around the pale face. She pulled her coat tighter around herself and looked up at him with big, dark eyes when he entered. Relief seemed one of the prominent emotions displayed on her features. God alone knew how long she had been waiting for him. God, and possibly Foster.

"Good evening, Mrs Geoffrey," he said, sitting across from her. "I hope I didn't let you wait long."

She made a non-committal sound at this. Jack realised that he was still wearing both coat and hat. Hiding his embarrassment, he laid the latter onto the table between them. Silence snuck into the room and took the third chair while the Inspector attempted to dig underneath a mountain of confused thoughts for anything appropriate in an interview with a suspect. Rain formed a steady background noise for his contemplations.

He finally settled for: "I assume you know why I have asked you here."

"My husband is dead. That appears reason enough," the woman said, smiling thinly.

"We found the note you wrote in Mr Malcolm Geoffrey's office."

Jack peeled a folded piece of paper from his coat.

"5 o'clock, Seaview Hotel", he read aloud, skipping the description of sweet kisses fully on purpose. "The maid remembers both of you incredibly well."

Thunder clapped into the heavy pause. Mrs Geoffrey bit her lip, dropping her eyes to the tabletop.

"My husband was not a nice man," she said after a while. "In difference to his brother."

"So you killed him?" the Inspector asked calmly. "To make way for your great love?"

Her eyes widened in shock.

"No, no, I would never... Look, Inspector, I am from a Catholic family. They wouldn't stand for a divorce," she explained bitterly. After a moment of hesitation she slipped up her sleeve, revealing a dark bruise on her upper arm. Jack gulped. He didn't like where this was heading.

"He raised his hand sometimes when he was drunk," she continued quietly. "Or had taken opium. Malcolm looked after me. I'm not a fool, Inspector. I know he doesn't love me like I love him..." She trailed off, her dark eyes sweeping to the window. Night was falling outside.  
"But it was nice for somebody to care, even if we never had a future."

Jack tried to clear his uncomfortably tight throat.

"I don't know who took the knife to him," Mrs. Geoffrey said into his thoughts. "But Jonathan was always entangled in some feud or another. Could have been anyone. A bookie he'd cheated, a drug dealer he didn't pay... But it wasn't me. And it certainly wasn't Malcolm."

Jack took a deep breath.

"See, Mrs Geoffrey, the problem is that your husband didn't die of a knife wound. He was poisoned. Which is not the style of any drug dealer or bookie I've met."

If it was at all possible, Mrs Geoffrey paled further.

"Poison?"

"You must have noticed something, surely?"

She bit her lip, yet again.

"He was feeling quite ill the last two days," she explained slowly.

"And it didn't occur to you to fetch help?"

"No, I... It wasn't a strange occurrence. He took to drugs, and often indulged too much."

"You saw similar symptoms before?" Jack asked.

"I've seen many things over the years, Inspector. Seizures, visions, violent outbursts. Once he was sick all over my new sofa and the sitting room floor. It took weeks to remove the stench from the house, despite my best efforts."

She shuddered in memory of the day.

"You are right, I should have called for the doctor, Inspector. May the Lord forgive my negligence. But I would never harm a soul - not even my husband."

Jack nodded slowly. Despite himself, he felt compelled to believe her.

"You are free to go," he said, after a moment of thought. She rose. "Please ask Constable Foster on your way out to take your fingerprints," the Inspector added when she had almost reached the door. She turned to him, frowning, then she nodded. Jack stayed behind, deep in thought.


	7. Chapter 7

 

Candlelight dipped the small kitchen into a warm glow, an island in the storm raging outside.

"That's the last one," Dorothy Williams said, setting a big white cylinder down onto the middle of the table. Mr. Butler smilingly nodded his thanks at her from where he was attempting to rescue a pot of cocoa that had lost heat halfway through cooking.

"I think that will do, Dot," Miss Fisher said, stretching her sore limbs. She had spent the last hours bent over the table, trying to make sense of the little book Alessandro had given her. The power outage had given her a welcome moment of reprieve.

"I think these are older notes," Dot said, after having another long look at the pages. "Maybe we need to focus on the last entries."

"I was hoping they would give me some indication on how they are coded," Phryne explained. "But I do not recognize any of the events noted here."

"If those people are who they claim to be, they are probably quite good at hiding them from the public eye," Mr Butler said from the stove. She didn't know how to argue with that. She kept coming back to a line halfway down the last page.

'18, syd, Vrd, 7m, Srno, mrt."

She couldn't help coming back to it. The 18th was the date of Jack's wedding. Her detective's soul screamed that it couldn't be a coincidence. But the letters and numbers just continued without any obvious pattern revealing itself. She rubbed her hand over her tired eyes.

"I'm wondering if Cec and Bert will find anyone named Syd," she thought aloud.

"What about Sydney?" Dot suddenly asked.

"Sydney?" echoed Phryne.

"Well, it could be the city."

Miss Fisher sighed. Maybe she was on the wrong path after all.

"That's a little bit out of the way for what we are looking for."

Mr Butler set a cup of lukewarm cocoa in front of her with a small smile, briefly distracting her.

"There is a Sydney Road in Brunswick," he offered.

Phryne gaped at him.

"Mr Butler, do we have a map in the house?"

"Of course, Miss."

He bustled away, a candle in hand, leaving the two women stare at each other in breathless silence. It took him a mere minute to find the required item and his mistress threw herself at it as if her life depended on it. Dot was a little more cautious, but bit her lip in concentration as her finger trailed along roads.

"Here," she said. Miss Fisher's nail slipped along the drawn line leading straight to the north. "St Abrose," she said. "Alessandro was right, they are planning something at the wedding."

"Shouldn't we warn the Inspector?" asked Dot, wide-eyed.

They didn't get any further. Loud rapping against the kitchen door made further thought impossible. Mr Butler opened to the two dark figures and the cabbies slipped inside, both drenched to the bone.

"Bloody storm," Bert swore, shaking himself like a puppy after a bath. Mr Butler appeared with a couple towels which wouldn't keep them from dripping onto the kitchen floor, but maybe lighten the floods somewhat.

"Wouldn't stop bloody pouring the whole time we were out," Bert added, while Cec was already busy attempting to dry his hair.

"I hope it was worth the effort?" Miss Fisher asked, when neither seemed to be forthcoming with any information.

"Depends what ya consider worth it," Bert grumbled, earning himself an elbow to the ribs by his fellow cabbie.

"We've kept our ears out, Miss, as you asked," Cec said, wrapping his hands around a cup of cocoa Mr Butler had helpfully provided. "The word on the street is that there's some trouble within the Camorra at the moment."

"What kind of 'trouble'?" Phryne asked, now all ears.

"Not everyone's happy with the boss," Bert threw in, shrugging.

"With Antonio Strano?"

"That's the one. There's another bloke who thinks he should be the big gun."

Miss Fisher pulled herself to her feet.

"Interesting. So, if the loyalties are split..."

"We'll have a bloody war in the middle of Melbourne," Bert finished her thought.

Phryne chewed her lip.

"But how does the Inspector fit in there?" Dot asked from where she had been forgotten by everyone else. "It is his wedding, isn't it?"

Miss Fisher's face darkened.

"He's a poliziotto," she said grimly. Three frowning faces stared back at her. Mr Butler spoke enough Italian to hide his confusion perfectly fine. Phryne decided to explain.

"If Strano's star is sinking, the last thing he needs is his daughter to marry... unfavourably."

"So, Mr Strano is planning to stop the wedding?" Dot asked.

"No, Dot, I think he's planning something much, much worse."


	8. Chapter 8

 

Miss Fisher was pacing. She didn't pace often. In fact she generally considered it a useless exercise. But currently her legs didn't ask for permission, they just kept on walking across the parlour in silly circles.

She'd attempted to telephone the station but had been informed by a rather bored sounding Constable Foster that the Inspector had left for the night. And apparently there was nothing else he could do. What poppycock!

So she had contacted the only other person she could think of that might be of any help in the current situation. A knock at the door finally announced his arrival. Miss Fisher was in the hall even before Mr Butler could appear. The servant withdrew discreetly back into the dining room.

"Alessandro," she beamed.

"Miss Fisher."

He nodded, waited for her to ask him inside, where he stood somewhat lost until she remembered to help him out of his coat.

"Can I get you a drink?" she asked after she had ushered him into the parlour.

"With pleasure, but first I would like you to tell me why you have asked me here," Alessandro said.

Despite his words he didn't resist when she pushed him onto the love seat and pressed a tumbler into his hand. Phryne slipped opposite him into an armchair and crossed her legs.

"I have made some headway in your case," she said much more easily than she felt.

"I'm pleased to hear it. But it does not explain why I am here."

Phryne rolled her eyes at him, again tracing some resemblance with her Inspector. No, not hers. Concetta's. The pain flitted past her heart so quickly that she had no time to ponder it.

"I seem to have discovered their plan. But at this point I am not entirely certain how to prevent it," she said after a long moment. Alessandro gulped visibly.

"Concetta?"

"I do not believe your friend involved," Phryne said slowly. "But she may still end up being hurt."

Briefly she explained their findings and conclusions, not wasting a word more than necessary. Alessandro listened carefully and attentively.

"Concetta is getting married?" he asked once she had finished. "I had no idea."

Phryne frowned at this anticlimactic conclusion.

"That seems an odd thing not to share with an old friend?" she said.

He smiled at this enigmatically.

"I may have overstated our closeness," he said, sipping his drink. "We have not spoken much in recent years."

"I see," Phryne returned, a smile sneaking onto her lips as she watched him.

Something shifted in his expression, turned his eyes darker and more intense. He really was very handsome. He drained his glass in one big gulp and for a moment she feared he would rise and leave her alone with her problem. But he didn't, just lifted his hand in a wordless plea for a refill. She didn't need to be asked twice. As she stepped beside him with the decanter, the scent of his aftershave sneaking into her nostrils, a familiar longing took a hold of her. Maybe he could be compelled to stay the night. She wasn't certain how far her cravings reached, but a pair of strong arms to hold her seemed like a heavenly idea just about now. To forget for a few hours that Jack Robinson was to be married on Saturday, the 18th. Alessandro looked up at her, his eyes almost black and she knew he had similar designs. God knew what he was trying to forget. Or whom.

Alessandro pulled her hand towards himself, pressing a soft kiss to her wrist. She almost purred with pleasure. A polite throat being cleared drew her back from the spheres she had been floating in.

"Miss, the Inspector."

Mr Butler looked somewhat embarrassed, but he had nothing on Jack, who was standing right behind him, thunderclouds brewing above his head which rivalled the one's outside.

"Jack?" Phryne exclaimed, a touch too shrill, but without trying to hide that both her stomach and heart did a leap at his sight. Alessandro looked confused but had the decency to let go of her and withdraw quietly.

"Miss Fisher," the Inspector said coldly. She found it hard not to flinch underneath the ice in his stare. Stubbornly she straightened her back. He was the one rushing off to get married. He could hardly expect her to not even entertain guests.

"I do not believe I know your guest," he said into her thoughts. She forced herself to smile.

"Mr Alessandro Bricelli," she introduced. "Inspector Robinson from the City South Police. Mr Bricelli is my client," she added pointedly. The two men shook hands like two wild cats, not taking their eyes off each other.

After she had filled a glass for the Inspector and he'd settled in a chair that conveniently left him room to stare at both, Miss Fisher and Bricelli, the other man suddenly took a keen interest in his wristwatch.

"I believe it is time for me to head home," he explained calmly. "Please do keep me informed, Miss Fisher."

"Of course," Phryne said, walking him to the door. She felt Jack's eyes boring into her back. Alessandro Bricelli slipped quietly into the night, leaving her alone in the parlour with the Inspector and the crackling of the fire.

"So, Jack, what brings you here?" she asked after a long moment of watching him carefully. He seemed tired and still radiated quiet anger.

"My Constable informed me you wished to see me on an urgent matter," he said without tearing his eyes from her. "I apologize if I spoiled your nightly entertainment."

He didn't sound sorry in the slightest, she realised with faint amusement. Miss Fisher was beginning to enjoy this game. So he did still care. It was a somewhat soothing thought, if not quite enough to comfort her over the fact that he intended to marry somebody else. She shrugged her shoulders and refilled their glasses.

"Since you scared my guest away, you may have to provide the entertainment yourself," she said, looking at him over the rim of her tumbler. Jack's face went stony at this and for a long moment she thought he would actually up and run. But he remained stubbornly seated. Only his face was withdrawing. Her heart sank all the same.

"Miss Fisher, is there any point to my presence here?" he asked in a voice that reminded her of their very first meetings. A tone that announced that she was an annoying obstacle that he had to navigate, even though he'd rather wished not to.

"You asked me for proof, Jack, I have proof," she said with as much forced calmness as she could muster. "The Camorra is planning an attack on your wedding party."

He gaped at her.

"What possible reason could there be for that?" he asked after a long pause.

"Politics," she said. He raised his eyebrows at her. "Let's say your future father-in-law is not quite as secure in his position as we assumed. He needs to stop his daughter from making an unsuitable match. By _any means_ , Jack."

He shook his head slowly.

"So what do you propose? That I cancel my wedding due to wild speculations, Miss Fisher?"

She couldn't help but smile cheekily at this.

"That could certainly be an option."

He licked his dry lips.

"And one that would rather suit you, I suppose?"

She couldn't read his tone. Was he presenting her with an opening? A challenge?

"I admit, your decision came as a surprise," she said vaguely. He didn't answer for a long moment, kneading his hands on his lap.

"It was never my design to upset you," he said, his tone entirely changed. For some reason his assuming her upset about his wedding enraged her.

"I believe it to be ill advised, that is all," she said, more hotly than she had intended. "Why the hurry, Jack?"

Again his infuriating silence.

"I won't deny that it was a quick engagement. But what am I waiting for, Phryne?"

He held her gaze, his eyes dark with emotions. She couldn't manage to look away.

"I cannot wait any longer," he said in so quiet, yet heavy, a tone that she was sure her heart broke under the weight of it. Phryne could say nothing. Tears pricked at the back of her eyes, turned the world around her blurry. His face melted with the flickering fire into blotches of colour.

"You've made your decision then?" she finally brought out.

A tiny nod. Then he stood, turned a last time in the door. She didn't look around.

"I'm sorry," he said. This time he sounded like he meant it.


	9. Chapter 9

 

Jack still stood in the door, his hand curled around the door frame as if he needed it to hold him upright. He felt dizzy with unshed tears. Miss Fisher was staring at the fire, clearly avoiding to look at him. He wanted to thank her for caring enough to try and warn him, despite everything, but the words wouldn't come. He also battled the urge to yell and scream about all the time they had wasted, never coming even within an inch of having a proper conversation. Maybe if they had tried harder... There was no point in pondering it. It was the truth - his mind was made up. And what was more, he had made a promise to Concetta. A sliver of happiness was surely due to her after everything she'd been through and he would attempt the rest of his life to be the husband she deserved.

Nevertheless it was the hardest thing he had ever done to move his feet towards the door and open it. He stood, brightly illuminated by the hall light, looking back at her form slumped in the armchair, a last stolen look at his Phryne, while his heart contracted painfully in his chest. Was it worth the sacrifice? He couldn’t say. Either way, it was too late.

He slammed his hat onto his head and stepped out into the soft drizzle the storm had mellowed into. Gravel crunched softly underneath his feet as they carried him away. He was about to open the iron gate, when a loud bang tore through his ears. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd dove behind the hedge framing Miss Fisher's garden and pulled his pistol. His eyes tried to focus in the darkness, but after the long time in the flickering light, he couldn't manage to see anything but moving shadows. A man ran across the road towards him. Jack aimed and fired. The figure dove behind a car. Another bullet missed him by more than a meter. The Inspector became braver, left his cover to aim properly. Behind him he heard the door fly open. Another two shots missed their target.

"Jack?!"

"Stay inside," he yelled at the top of his lungs. The next bullet flew past him so close that he could feel the air move. Then the car roared into the night, the street too dark to make out even the registration. Jack fired another useless shot after them, then he stored his pistol away and attempted to catch his breath. Feet flew over the gravel. Moments later a warm hand touched his arm.

"Jack?"

"I'm fine," he brought out, still gasping for air.

"Come inside, Inspector," Mr Butler's calm voice came to his ear. He allowed himself to be reasoned back into Miss Fisher's house by its inhabitants.

"What happened?" Phryne asked when she had manoeuvred him onto the loveseat and made sure that the exchange hadn't left him with any unfortunate holes in his body.

"Someone shot at me as I was leaving," he said. Now that the adrenaline wore off, her hands were warm, her touch familiar. It was entirely too much to endure.

"Did you see who?" she asked, her eyes still wide with shock.

He shook his head.

"Two men, that's all I could make out. Your warning may have been more urgent even that you thought, Miss Fisher," he said, taking a deep gulp from the drink Mr Butler was offering him. He couldn't tell what it was and he didn't care much. His thoughts were racing. "May I use the telephone?"

Wordlessly she watched as he dialled, spoke to someone, obviously at the station.

"I have to go, Miss Fisher," he said. "Thank you."

"Jack?" she said again, touching his arm. He forced himself not to pull away.

"If you are right, and you usually are, Miss Fisher, Concetta might be in danger."

She nodded.

"I'm coming," she insisted after a beat.

"Would it have any effect if I’d asked you not to?" he asked with a thin smile.

"None at all." She was already donning her coat and hat. "You've been shot at, Jack. I won't leave you out of my sight."

He sighed theatrically at this, but opened the door for her all the same.

 

X

 

He stumbled down the hallway in darkness, not wishing to wake his mother. As he pushed in the door to his bedroom, he stopped. He sensed the breath more than he heard it. Alessandro spun, slamming the intruder against the cold wood and grabbing him by his lapels. A familiar breath escaped a pair of pained lungs. He loosened his grip.

"What do you want?" he asked. The smirk answering him was barely visible in the dim light falling through the window.

"I'd like to know what you're playing at, Sandro."

"Whatever are you talking about?" he asked, pushing past his brother into the small, dusty bedroom. Marco wrapped a hand around his wrist in an iron grip.

"Where is my book?" he hissed.

Alessandro carefully peeled the fingers from himself and took off his jacket.

"Somewhere where you won't find it."

There was a long pause.

"Verdi is probably gonna kill me," Marco said, his voice level, betraying no fear. "He's got a terrible temper."

"I've warned you not to play with fire. But you were never good at listening."

The brother's shared a lopsided smile.

"That I can't deny."

Alessandro pulled his brother into a tight, bone crushing hug.

"Be careful out there, will you?" he asked beside the other man's ear. Marco just shrugged.


	10. Chapter 10

 

"So, what exactly is the plan, Inspector?" Phryne asked as they drove down another quiet street. She missed her steering wheel, but Jack had insisted on the police car for their nightly excursion. She didn't _really_ mind being chauffeured by him, though he did drive a bit like a milkman. Particularly for the lady of his heart being in peril.

"The lads on night shift should already be at the house," he explained, as if he could read her mind. "I've telephoned to send a car."

She nodded.

"So, what is our role in this drama?" she asked.

" _I_ , intend to go inside and ensure my fiancee and her brother are safe and sound and remain so. You, Miss Fisher, will be so kind as to wait in the car for me," Jack said firmly. She glanced at him. Usually she gloried in ignoring such obvious attempts at ordering her around, but tonight she chose a different strategy.

"Do you feel I will be safe in the car, considering the gunmen lurking in the bushes?" she asked sweetly. His eyes flickered at her and he licked his dry lips, a gesture she knew all too well. It was almost too easy.

They arrived at the small house without speaking another word, but once he had climbed out, she sat obediently until he had rounded the car and opened her door.

"You may join me for your own safety, Miss Fisher. But if you could be so kind as to not upset Concetta, I'd be deeply grateful."

"What do you take me for, Jack?"

"Would you really like me to answer that?"

She pouted at that, but followed him down the garden path all the same. It was odd how easy it was, she realised. Almost normal. The feeling disintegrated the moment the door flew open and a figure almost threw herself at the Inspector's chest.

"Gianni! Thank God," Concetta exclaimed, between stroking his face as if she had to make sure he was alive. "Are you harmed? Your men, they said you were attacked."

Jack set to ensure her of his perfectly good health, without paying attention to his companion, who stood behind him, watching the exchange with mixed feelings. The displayed tenderness between the lovers didn't fail to touch her, but her heart fell into a now familiar ache.

"We should head inside," Miss Fisher finally said, glancing over her shoulder into the darkness. Jack nodded his agreement. Concetta looked like she woke from a dream to realise that her fiance hadn't come alone.

"Come in, come in," she said quickly, ushering both her guests into the house. "It is much warmer inside."

"And hopefully safer," Phryne added under her breath.

When they stepped into the hall they noted Constable Foster standing behind the door, having witnessed the whole exchange. For a brief moment she spotted embarrassment flashing across Jack's features. Of course, having so many eyes watching his moment with Concetta would do that. Phryne smiled to herself, while the Inspector went straight to business.

"Anything out of the ordinary, Foster?"

"Nothing, Sir. We searched the house, the garden, even the street. Neither Mr. Strano nor his sister have noticed anything unusual."

"Good, good. We mustn't let our guard down though."

Jack chewed his lip. Miss Fisher could see the cogs in his head turn, wondering what the next step should entail.

"Miss Fisher, may I take your coat?" a soft voice asked behind her. She could barely keep herself from flinching. With a forced smile she turned to Concetta.

"Of course, thank you."

She slipped out of her damp coat and hat, carefully smoothing down her bob. Concetta watched her out of dark eyes.

"Gianni - he was at your house when those men shot at him?" she asked.

"He was just leaving," Miss Fisher explained, keeping her voice level. "We had business to discuss," she added for good measure. Upsetting Concetta wouldn't do, but it was hard to resist the temptation all the same.

"I see," Concetta said calmly. Her smile looked just as forced as her own, Miss Fisher noted. There was a pause. "Thank you for keeping him safe," the other woman added. Phryne started.

"I'm afraid it was due to blind luck rather than me," she smiled thinly. "Fortunately those thugs weren't good shots."

Both turned to look at where Jack was in heated discussion with Foster, along with another officer Phryne didn't recognize, and Vincenzo Strano, who looked like he had been called out of bed.

"We do not need polizia in the house!" he exclaimed loudly. "It will only provoke them!"

"I believe we are beyond provoking them, Vincenzo," the Inspector argued. "I will not wait for Concetta or yourself to be shot down in your front yard."

A string of swearwords was aimed at him, most, but not all, in Italian. Phryne slipped between the men quickly and quietly like a cat.

"Surely that is not the language you want to use in the presence of ladies," she said, smiling broadly at Vincenzo. He huffed, but fell silent. Concetta appeared, gently touching her brother's arm. He glared at Jack.

"You may stay! But those two," he waved at the other policemen, "they are not welcome in my house."

Jack opened his mouth, then closed it and sighed.

"Fine. I'll stay myself until the morning. Foster, please escort Miss Fisher home and organize a guard in front of the house at 7 am sharp."

He turned to Vincenzo.

"I hope you are happy."

The man just shrugged. "I'm going back to sleep," he said stubbornly, already on the way to the stairs. "Wake me if anything happens."

Jack looked after him, then turned on his heels and closed the kitchen door behind himself, just gentle enough to not offend, yet sufficiently hard to express his annoyance. The two officers exchanged a look.

"Miss Fisher," Foster said with some resignation, opening the front door for her. The lady detective considered the offer for a long moment.

"You know, I believe I'm happy to find my own way home," she smiled sweetly. Foster looked confused but was obviously not ready to argue with her. His fellow officer mumbled something and shoved him out the door before she could change her mind.

“Vorrei scusarmi, Miss Fisher. Vincenzo, he gets very angry when disturbed in his sleep.”

Concetta smiled ruefully at her remaining guest. Phryne nodded.

"And I’m afraid I will have to upset him further,” she said after a pause. “Because I have not intention to leave. Your brother may be perfectly content to know Jack here alone, but I am not."

Concetta didn't react to the challenge in her statement.

"He will not be alone, Miss Fisher," she said, adding: "But you are welcome to stay if it suits you."

Phryne's eyes followed her into the kitchen, where she doubtlessly would keep 'Gianni' company through the long hours. In that moment all Miss Fisher wanted to do was leave, go home to take a hot bath and curl up in her own bed. Instead she walked into the kitchen with her head held high, disarmed Jack's protest and settled in for the night.


	11. Chapter 11

 

At around 3 am, Phryne Fisher laid down the hand of cards she was holding and stretched her sore limbs. To her right, Concetta Fabrizzi had her head bedded onto her arms, breathing evenly. Even in her sleep she was beautiful, which was somewhat infuriating. Jack must have noted it too as he had also abandoned his cards and was now watching his fiancee with a fond expression in his eyes.

"More wine?" Phryne asked quietly, fishing for the almost empty bottle. The Inspector shook his head.

"I need to keep a clear head," he explained his reluctance, though he didn't need to. She knew him well enough to see the tension in his muscles, his ears pricking at every sound. He may have been playing cards and with the two women of his life for the last hours, even contributing on occasion to the forced conversation which even the wine seemed unable to loosen entirely, but he was alert all the same. She remembered the many times they had spent nights similar to this, hiding in cabinets or lying guard behind cargo piles, even the one or other sneaky break-in. Of course, there hadn't been another woman sitting between them then. She'd never quite realised just how much she had enjoyed his company until now that it was too late.

"Penny for your thoughts," Jack said. Phryne looked up startled. The target of Jack's attention had changed, but his expression had not.

"I never thought it would end like this," she said before she could bring her tongue under control.

"We aren't dead yet, Miss Fisher," Jack said smilingly, filling his glass despite all his protests. She wasn't sure if he misunderstood her on purpose. But when he had finished, he was looking at her again and her heart did an unbidden leap in her chest.

"No thanks to your shooting skills," she said, echoing a conversation a long time ago.

He sipped on his glass, his eyes sparkling in amusement.

"I may have been slightly distracted by the bullets flying around my ears, Miss Fisher."

Her gaze flickered to his lips, which were slightly parted and stained by the wine. Concetta sighed in her sleep and they tore their eyes off each other as if she had caught them doing something forbidden.

Jack cleared his throat.

"I may have a look around the house," he said. "Make sure everything is locked and bolted."

He was gone before she could protest that his men surely had done so several hours ago. In fact, Miss Fisher rather doubted that any attacks were to be expected in this night. In her experience criminals didn't wait for the early hours of the morning to do forbidden things. She'd just finished that thought when there was a sound from the direction the Inspector had disappeared in.

"Jack?" she called quietly, in a bid to not wake the slumbering Concetta. No answer. Miss Fisher hastened across the hall and into the sitting room. Jack had not bothered to switch on the light and her eyes took a moment to adjust while she stumbled blindly through a collection of soft furnishings.

"Jack?" she whispered.

Another quiet rumble, like someone had bumped into a furnishing of his own.

Breathlessly she pulled her pistol, turning on the spot and taking a step backwards, walked into someone. As she spun, stumbled over her own feet in the process, a pair of arms caught her and the familiar scent finally gave his identity away.

"Jack?" she gasped, her heartbeat still droning in her ears.

"Who else did you expect?" he asked dryly, but also sounding a touch breathless. His eyes fell onto the pistol still clutched between her fingers.

"If you intend on shooting me, Miss Fisher, I propose you get in line."

The darkness couldn't hide his smile and Phryne became finally fully aware of his proximity. Carefully she shifted her weight back onto her own feet, but then found it completely impossible to let go of him. For a long moment she stood, panting, telling herself that she was merely still catching her breath while feeling rather more like she was drowning. Then she realised that his head was turned away from her, staring out into the darkness.

"There's someone out there," he finally whispered, his arms disappointingly slipping away, leaving her shivering in the cool morning air. She looked outside in the direction he was gesturing, and indeed, a small dot of light was floating through the air at the edge of the garden. Someone, half hidden underneath the trees, was smoking. Her detective's heart felt rather insulted by such cheek, but Jack was already on his way to the door. She needed to hurry in order to catch up with him. Outside they split, Jack going the direct way, seeking cover from the bushes, while Phryne would sneak along the fence to catch the intruder if he should run. Her heart was hammering heavily against her ribcage as she watched the Inspector's frame move closer to what was probably an armed gunman - or possibly several. The night was still too dense to make out much of anything. High, damp grass closed over her heeled feet as she hurried along the fencing towards them. Why had she allowed him to go by himself? How silly of her.

They arrived at about the same time, rendering their split unnecessary. Underneath a gum tree, face shadowed by his hat, stood a tall man, currently rubbing out a cigarillo with his heel in the wet grass, the heavy scent of aromatic tobacco still hanging in the air. The sudden light of a lamp blinded him.

"Don't move, police," Jack said.

The man shielded his eyes, answering in Italian.

"Who do we have here?" Phryne said. "Pappa Antonio."

Antonio Strano said something under his breath which wasn't suited for mixed company.

"What are you doing here, Mr Strano?" Jack asked, one hand still wrapped around the lamp, the other hovering over his pistol. Phryne had pulled hers, so it was highly unlikely.

"I was visiting my children," the older man said smoothly and in visible annoyance.

"In the dead of night?"

"I couldn't sleep. I was worried."

He shrugged in exasperation, indicating that he considered their behavior unreasonable.

"Or maybe you were here to rid yourself of your future son-in-law," Phryne said calmly. "Or maybe your daughter? Your son?"

"Why on earth would I do that?" Strano asked, not giving her the satisfaction of letting his mask slip.

"I could think of a couple reasons. Disobedient children are said to drive some parents to distraction."

"You're mad," Pappa Antonio said, turning to Jack. "Can you believe this nonsense? Me, kill my Concetta e Vincenzo?! Madness."

"So, why are you hiding in the bushes, if you aren't here to cause trouble?" Jack asked calmly.

"I do not have to explain myself to you!" Strano said hotly, turning on his heel. The Inspector attempted to grab him by the arm and with a fiery stare Strano spun and spat at his feet.

"You wish to marry Concetta and you think this of her father?! Vergognati!"

Stunned, Jack watched as he elderly man made his way through the night. Phryne attempted to rush after the man, but he held her back.

"Leave him be," he said. "I don't think he's our man."

She didn't ask how he had come to that conclusion.


	12. Chapter 12

 

The birds woke her, along with milky sunlight creeping through the window. Phryne's fingertip stroked over the fabric underneath her, searching for memories of last night. Jack had shuffled two armchairs in front of the kitchen fire when the morning air had begun to be unbearably frosty. She remembered sitting with him, quietly discussing the case, while Concetta had remained still and peaceful underneath the blanket the Inspector had wrapped around her. Now the opposite chair was decidedly empty. Phryne could hear laughter and quiet whispering behind herself and for a little while she didn't stir, not willing to be witness of an intimate moment. But finally her sore back protested the odd position and she made a show of stretching herself and smoothing out her crumpled dress.

"Good morning," Concetta said, in way too good a mood for having spent the night resting on a wooden kitchen table. "Caffe?"

"Sounds like a heavenly idea," Phryne said, avoiding Jack's gaze. He looked so very happy, despite not having closed an eye all night. A small cup of hot, strong coffee was pressed between her fingers. Concetta's warm skin touched hers for a brief moment, lingering, as if she was trying to comfort her. What an odd thought.

"I had better see if my men have arrived yet," Jack said into her contemplations. It almost appeared as if he couldn't bear being in a room with both of them. She caught his eye on his way to the door and dropped her own back to the cup. Carefully she took another sip, trying to not burn her tongue.

"It's very good," she said, when she realised that Concetta's eyes were resting on her. Her host just smiled.

"Tell me something, Miss Fisher," she requested, gesturing towards the table where breakfast was laid out. They settled down in something very akin to harmony.

"What is it you'd like to know?" Phryne asked with more enthusiasm than she felt.

"What exactly is your relationship with Gianni?"

Phryne stopped breathing, but her smile stayed glued in place.

"We are friends," she heard herself say. "Just... old friends."

Concetta reached for the bread basket to offer it to her.

"Do you often spend the night guarding your friends?" she asked after a pause.

"More often than I care to," Phryne answered truthfully. Concetta seemed not satisfied with that answer but spread jam onto a slice of bread before she spoke again.

"In my family, men will guard women, but never the other way around."

It was to be said for Miss Fisher that she managed to answer this without showing any signs of the annoyance she felt.

"I believe men need as much protection as any woman," she finally managed.

"You may be right," Concetta said, looking into the distance. For a while silence fell as they both ate, both wondered where the Inspector had disappeared to.

"Do you love him?" Concetta asked so suddenly that Phryne's second coffee burned down the wrong part of her throat.

"I don't understand?" she finally asked with forced nonchalance.

"Gianni. I have seen how you look at him," Concetta said calmly, as if she was talking about the weather. Phryne chose not to answer, praying that Jack would return and rescue her from having to answer this intrusive question. "It is hard to not see," Concetta added gently.

"I do not see how my feelings on the matter are relevant," Miss Fisher said after a pause. "He has pledged his life to you."

Concetta nodded at this with a calm smile that woke in Phryne the urge to stab her with the butter knife.

"You have answered my question, thank you."

"I'm glad I could satisfy your curiosity," Phryne said, sarcasm dripping of every word. She pushed her plate away, suddenly not hungry anymore.

"I admit, I am more confused than I was before," Concetta explained, setting down her cup. "If you love him, why do you give him up so easily?"

Her dark eyes borrowed into Phryne. She really was a very beautiful woman and strangely, there seemed no hostility to her questions, just unconcealed curiosity. It was strangely fascinating to meet someone so unguarded. Phryne thought about her answer for a long while, as the grandfather clock ticked the moments away.

"I am not conceited enough to believe that I know Jack's heart better than himself," she finally said. "He is convinced that this marriage will bring him happiness.” She fixated the other woman. “So all left for me to do is to hope that he is right."

Surprise flickered across Concetta's olive features, but she did not get a chance to voice her thoughts as the Inspector chose that very moment to storm back in the room.

"Apologies, but I have to leave immediately. A murder was reported to the station right before the men left and my presence is required."

Concetta rose with some words of sympathy and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, which he allowed, even though he could not hide his discomfit at the displayed intimacy. Phryne couldn't help but grin.

"I will pack you some food to take," Concetta offered, already bustling away.

"Thank you," he mumbled, looking at Miss Fisher. She tilted her head, feeling that he was attempting to tell her something.

"So, a murder, Inspector?" she asked cheerfully, when he wasn't forthcoming.

"A man was found at the Yarra this morning, not far from here," Jack explained quietly, and added, dropping his voice further: "According to his papers, his name was Bricelli."


	13. Chapter 13

 

Cold morning fog still hung over the riverbanks when the detective climbed down the steep hill leading down to the Yarra. A dark uniform stood with his back to them, speaking to an animatedly gesturing woman.

A little way off, a white sheet covered the human shaped pile on the ground. Jack crouched down beside the body and uncovered the face. Phryne stared with a sinking feeling at the features. Despite the blue lips, the resemblance was uncanny.

“Alessandro’s brother,” she said quietly.

“I guess our friends picked a different target last night,” Jack said, peeling the sheet further back and revealing two bullet wounds in the chest.

“They may have seen Alessandro leave my house,” Miss Fisher said quietly.

“And executed the supposed traitor?” the Inspector asked.

“It is a theory,” she said, straightening her back and shaking off the dark thoughts. “Let’s see what else we know.” With that she turned on her heels and stalked towards Hugh Collins who had just taken his leave from a shaken looking woman in a very plain dress.

“Good morning, Hugh,” Miss Fisher beamed.

“Good morning, Miss Fisher.”

The young Constable looked a little confused. Even on him her absence hadn’t been entirely lost.

“What can you tell us about the victim?” Phryne asked. Hugh’s eyes flickered briefly to the Inspector, who nodded. He pulled out his notebook.

“The dead man is one Marco Bricelli, 38 years old. His wallet, bare, but for his paperwork, was lying beside him when Mrs Fronner over there found him at about four thirty this morning.”

“An odd time for a walk?” Jack enquired.

“She works in a bakery, sir, she begins her day early.”

“I see.”

Phryne felt little entertained by the turn of the conversation. If they were right and the Camorra had targeted Bricelli, a baker’s wife would hardly be any help to their investigation. The flood of words washed over her without penetrating her ears, while she wandered back over to the body. She wasn’t looking forward to breaking the news to Alessandro. The brothers must have been only a few years apart, Marco being the younger of the two. His hair was a little lighter, a thick scar on his neck speaking of a dangerous life. She traced it with her fingertips without touching the cold skin. What crimes may he have committed in his still young life? Had he been involved in any of the hideous things Jack had seen? It was odd that she should be crouching in the grass, feeling sorry for a criminal whose fate had finally caught up to – in the form of a handgun from very close distance, if she was any judge. Suddenly, her eyes focused on something else, half crushed in the grass.

Her gloved fingers peeled it free only moments later, held it to her nose to sniff.

“Inspector!” she called, rising to her feet. Jack was instantly by her side, accepting the small cigarillo bud from her hands. Then looked up at her with a single question in his eyes.

“It’s the same tobacco,” Phryne confirmed his suspicion. “He may be our man after all.”

 

X

 

The temptation had been great to storm into Strano’s restaurant and confront him, but the Inspector resisted. He would try and solve this case with a cool head. Which meant his first way had to lead him to the next of kin to inform him of Marco Bricelli’s fate. Again, here his cool temper was challenged, because, of course, the next of kin was no other than Phryne’s latest lover. The thought alone tasted like bile in his mouth, though his reasonable mind called him out on his hypocrisy even louder than Phryne’s expression had last night. He had no more right to keep her from bedding Bricelli, than she had to stop his wedding. The thought was odd. It had first appeared when he’d spoken with Concetta about the guest list. They had come to the joined conclusion that there was no sober reason why Miss Fisher shouldn’t be on it, politeness alone demanded it, with their friendship only adding weight. Concetta concurred. And yet, the moment the decision had fallen, visions had begun to haunt him. Miss Fisher racing down the aisle, her expensive gown fluttering in the wind, demanding the wedding be halted. Miss Fisher bursting through the door with her pistol raised, searching for a killer. Miss Fisher jumping up, objecting on grounds of his own divorce not being finalised. It was never the same picture twice, but he didn’t need to study Freud to understand that he feared Miss Fisher’s disapproval – and hoped for it just the same.

“Shall we?” a soft voice asked. She sounded amused. He must have been staring blindly out the windshield at the Bricelli’s house for God knew how long. The Inspector cleared his throat.

“Not my favourite pastime,” he said, for good measure. He had no hope that she didn’t see right through him.

“I’d find it rather odd if it was,” she said, climbing from the police car. He realised that she was still wearing the crumpled clothes from last night. He didn’t often get to witness Miss Fisher in any less than an immaculate state and it was always oddly touching. Realising that he had drifted off yet again, he hurried to follow her. By the time he arrived at the door to the whitewashed cottage, she had already knocked. The house was neither rich nor poor, though well maintained. A neat row of flowers had been planted into the garden bed along the fence just recently. Jack looked somewhat sadly at the symbol of an idyllic little life. Things in this house would never be the same.

An elderly woman opened, dressed entirely in black, her white hair half-hidden underneath a scarf. Jack was momentarily taken aback. She couldn’t know already, could she?

“Oh,” she said. “Visitors? I was just on my way to the market.

As if to prove it, she waved the basket dangling off her arm.

“Buongiorno, Signora Bicelli,” Phryne said. The older lady frowned, obviously little impressed with Miss Fisher’s lingual talents. When she spoke, the Inspector realised that she had little accent left. 

“Do I know you, my child?” she asked carefully.

Jack felt it was about time he made use of his badge.

“Mrs Bicelli?” he asked. “I’m Inspector Robinson from the City South Police. This is Miss Fisher. May we come in?”

If he had hoped to make things clearer for the woman, he was mistaken.

“You’re Miss Fisher?” she asked. “So this is about Alessandro?” she asked. Phryne stared at her stunned before opening her mouth, but Jack was faster.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

“Well, he’s up and left in the middle of the night, the silly boy. Not even a note.”

The detectives exchanged a single look. It was enough to know that they were both considering the worst possibility.


	14. Chapter 14

 

Being in any bedroom with the Honourable Phryne Fisher was an adventure, the Inspector had found a long time ago. Being in the bedroom of her current dalliance made things just that much more awkward.

Alessandro Bricelli’s room was tidy and totally non-descript. A few pictures stood above a small fireplace, one of them showing him in a one-armed embrace with the man currently cooling in the morgue. It was a photograph taken in their youth, in happier days. Phryne looked at it for several moments before she managed to tear herself away. Jack found himself dimly wondering if she was at all attached to this Alessandro. Would it hurt her if they should find that he had also made his way to the Yarra? He could never quite fathom how she truly felt about the men she bedded. Was she actually interested in their minds, their souls? Or were they just a body to cling to in a cold night? He could understand the desire. How often had he lain awake, wishing desperately there were someone to hold him. Soon there would be, it occurred to him. It was still an unfamiliar notion.

He realised that Miss Fisher had moved on to another photograph, which she had taken off the mantle and stepped closer to see what she was looking at. What he saw stunned him somewhat.

“He’s married,” Phryne said in a tone he couldn’t read. “I wonder what happened to his wife.”

Jack stared for a long moment at the picture showing a younger Alessandro standing beaming beside a pretty girl, her dark her covered by a huge veil.

“Whatever it is, it doesn’t appear she lives here,” he said levelly, thinking of Rosie. Just what he needed, another woman to haunt his dreams. He wondered if the shame about his divorce would dissolve once he was married again. Or would the failure of his first marriage forever stay with him? At least on his paperwork his vows with Concetta would make Rosie disappear. It seemed not entirely fair that her existence should be wiped from his life – he couldn’t wait.

Phryne had moved on from the discovery of her lover’s marital status. If she was bothered by it, she didn’t show it. She was currently going through the contents of a large wardrobe with very little hesitance.

“Not many clothes here,” she stated.

“You think he may have run?” the Inspector asked, pulling open the drawer of a small desk.

“I certainly wouldn’t blame him, after the Camorra murdered his brother,” Phryne pointed out levelly.

“Which leaves the questions how he knew,” the Inspector argued. He did not feel particularly kindly disposed towards Alessandro Bricelli for reasons he didn’t care to explain.

“A very good question,” Phryne said from the direction of the bed. The Inspector hummed his agreement and closed the drawer in which he’d found nothing but stationary. His eyes caught on something. The small ball of paper barely covered half his gloved palm as he fished it from the bin. “What do we have here,” Phryne asked, already behind him. Jack gently unfolded and smoothed the note before holding it at an angle that they both could read.

 

**Your brother will pay for his mistake. You are next. Strano**

 

“Well, that explains at least why Mr Bricelli has bolted,” Jack said dryly. “And it also seems to cement your theory on Papa Antonio being behind the attack and the murder.”

Miss Fisher frowned.

“It all seems a little neat.”

The Inspector turned, becoming aware of just how close she was.

“If you were to write a threatening letter, Jack, would you sign your name?”

She looked up at him, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement. Jack gulped.

“I can’t say I have ever considered that possibility, Miss Fisher,” he rasped. Her eyes seemed to have doubled in size in the last minute, threatening to swallow him. He cleared his dry throat and took a small step backwards.

“You’ve made your point, Miss Fisher,” he said, bagging the letter. “It might be time to finally have a word with Strano.”

She smiled. He did, too. He hadn’t told her his entire plan yet.

 

X

 

The Inspector swept into the station in a rather joyful mood. He didn’t win arguments with Phryne Fisher often and he had the slight suspicion that the relative ease with which he had sent her home to get changed, had something to with the crinkles in her dress and her smeared lipstick, but it was a victory nevertheless. The truth was that he didn’t want her anywhere near Antonio Strano. He’d seen the hatred sparkle in the man’s eyes last night. He hadn’t forgiven either of them for making a fool of him in Nonna Louisa’s murder investigation. But Miss Fisher seemed to offend him further by being a woman who was better with a pistol than a wooden spoon.

Jack had promised though, faithfully, that he would call their suspect to the station rather than venture to his home or restaurant and to take a Constable to the interview room. He was a man of his word.

Jack had almost made it into his office, when Collins called after him.

“Sir? There’s a report here for you.”

The Inspector accepted the folder with some well-hidden confusion. Surely Dr Mac wasn’t that fast? When he opened the file he realised though that he had been mistaken. Foster had spent the night comparing fingerprints with the knife decorating Mr Geoffrey’s chest. And he had come to a very clear conclusion.

“Collins, call in Malcolm Geoffrey and take him to the interview room. Oh, and Antonio Strano.”

“Which one first?” Hugh asked, but the door closed before he’d received an answer.

Jack sat heavily behind his desk. He’d almost forgotten about the other murder which still lay on his desk, waiting to be solved. Malcolm Geoffrey? But Foster’s report left no doubt. The fingerprints on the weapon belonged to him.

X

 

Miss Fisher was meanwhile sitting in her bathtub, pouting at a bar of soap. It was a very good bar of soap, but that didn’t make this exercise any more enjoyable. She usually was rather fond of bathing, but there was excitement to be had, a murder to solve and here she sat, turning into a prune on the Inspector’s orders. He’d promised her he would be safe. He also had made her promise that she would go home for a change of clothes and some rest. As if she needed rest! Admittedly the thought of shedding her by now sticky and crumpled dress had been compelling. Phryne Fisher had to grudgingly surrender to the fact that she didn’t enjoy looking like she’d slept in her clothes, even if she had. That was particularly true in front of an Inspector who hadn’t closed an eye all night and yet looked fresh like the morning sun. The strange things love could do to people.

She huffed and peeled herself from the cooling water. The large towel Dot had readied before leaving for the market, embraced her wet body with a satisfying softness and somewhat reconciled with her lot, she sashayed into her dressing room to pick herself an outfit for the day. Flicking through the collection of dresses, she traced the rich fabrics with her fingers. A velvet gown in the colour of red wine caught her attention. The gold applications were a little much perhaps, at barely lunchtime. But then, being overdressed had never hurt anyone.

She sat at her dressing table to find a matching lipstick colour when she heard them, soft little taps on the floor as if someone was trying to hide themselves away. Her heart beating in her throat she sat perfectly still. The steps drew closer. Closer. The door creaked open, a head was stuck through. Then the man froze, as he became aware of the blade that had appeared uncomfortably close to his throat. Carefully he lifted his hands as Miss Fisher stepped free from her hiding place behind the door, still wrapped in only a towel, but with a rather sharp looking knife in her hand.

“Hello, Alessandro,” she said, equal parts confusion and satisfaction. “I’m glad to see you alive. Let’s keep it that way.”

“I’m all for that, Miss Fisher,” Bricelli answered, not daring to move.

“Would you care to explain what you are doing in my house?”

“I was actually hoping to see you,” Alessandro said, his eyes flickering down her rather skimpily dressed figure. Miss Fisher smiled.

“After you have done that, maybe you could me also tell me why you felt the need to lie to me.”

“Whatever do you mean?”

His brown eyes rested on her in absolute innocence. She didn’t believe it for a moment.

“The Padrino of the Camorra took the time to personally threaten you. I doubt that is an honour he applies to perfect strangers.”

Alessandro sighed.

“Will you please remove that knife from my throat?” he asked. Phryne smiled, taking a step closer. He tried to back away but there was only the door.

“Will you tell me the whole story if I do?” she asked sweetly, completely aware that there wasn’t much more than a towel separating them. Alessandro appeared a little more flushed than such a tiny knife should be able to provoke.

“Anything you want,” Alessandro said breathlessly.

Miss Fisher smirked.


	15. Chapter 15

 

He sat on the edge of the bed, like a school boy who had been caught sneaking a nasty insect onto Madame’s chair. Miss Fisher stood, leaning against the wall, making the best of her still missing clothes.

“You are right, of course. I used to be Camorristi for many years. I told you the truth about Concetta, we grew up in the same village, she was more at our house than her own.” He laughed. Phryne noted the way his eyes lit up at the memory.

“I thought...” he trailed off. “I dreamed we would end up marrying when we were children. But we grew up.”

“And Concetta married Fabrizzi,” Phryne said into his thoughts. He nodded.

“Her father, he wanted her settled nicely when we got of the boat. It came at a prize, of course.”

“The Camorra?”

His features darkened.

“We all were sucked in. Papa Antonio rose through the ranks in no time at all, Fabrizzi made sure of it.”

“And you were, of course, entirely innocent,” Phryne said, not attempting to hide her sarcasm. He frowned.

“Nobody is innocent who is part of the Camorra, Miss Fisher, I do not have to tell you. I only turned my back after... I became a widower.”

Phryne remembered her well, the beautiful, beaming bride in the photograph. She finally sank into a chair, right across from him.

“What happened to your wife?”

“She died in a shoot-out. A Christening… Someone didn’t like the father of the unfortunate child. My Emiliana was one of three women who died that day.”

His eyes had dropped to his hands, again kneading them on his lap. Phryne reached out her hand to still them.

“I’m so sorry,” she said. Alessandro looked up, his eyes glassy. “That day I swore I would change my life,” he explained quietly. “And I have. My brother though...”

“He worked for Strano as well?”

Alessandro shrugged.

“Sometimes. There was also someone else. Stefano Verdi. He is much more dangerous than you can ever imagine, Miss Fisher. Papa Antonio is loyal, he looks after his people. He was like a father to me. Verdi does not care about anyone but himself.”

“A father who threatens you with death?”

Alessandro made a gesture like throwing away her argument.

“The note was not from him, it’s ridiculous.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I know Papa Antonio, the way he handles things. Death threats in the mail? He wouldn’t sink that low. And he cares for me, has cared since I was a little boy.”

Phryne nodded at this.

“So, who do you think sent the note? And to what effect?”  
“Isn’t it obvious? He is trying to turn me against the Stranos. If he convinced me that Antonio had done something to my brother, I might kill him. And that would allow Verdi to execute me as a traitor, as he has been itching to since I broke rank.”

Miss Fisher let this all sink in. It made all a terrible sense. Then she realised that Alessandro was still talking.

“So, that’s why I need to find my brother, Miss Fisher. Before it’s too late.”

Phryne bit her lip, trying to win time.

“There’s something I have to tell you.”

His shocked expression informed her that he’d caught on before she had spoken a word.

 

X

 

“Why are your prints on the knife?” Jack asked, again. Malcolm Geoffrey stubbornly said nothing.

“Your silence isn’t helping you, Mr Geoffrey. Were you attempting to murder your brother?”

Nothing.

The Inspector sighed, watched the tall, handsome and very silent man in front of him in a mixture of contempt and despair. He’d tried to question the man for over 20 minutes now and not a word had come over his lips. A knock at the door gave him a moment’s relief and briefly the hope flitted past his mind that Miss Fisher might be on the other side of it. She had an amazing talent to draw things out of people and he by now almost regretted to have sent her home. But it was only Constable Collins.

“Sir, there is a lady who would like to speak to you.”

Jack frowned.

“Mrs Geoffrey, Sir,” Hugh whispered in a way that was completely audible through the whole room. The Inspector threw one last look at Mr Geoffrey, realising that his face had turned even stonier if that was at all possible and slammed the door shut. Mrs Geoffrey was waiting in the Inspector’s office, her back stiff with worry.

“Mrs Geoffrey, what can I do for you?” Jack asked, slipping behind his desk. She was ash grey, her eyes huge. She mustn’t have slept in days. He wondered if she mourned her husband despite it all. Or was it a murder on her conscience that didn’t allow her to find rest?

“You are interviewing my husband’s brother?” she asked. “His housekeeper told me.”

“That’s correct. But so far, he is not forthcoming,” the Inspector said. “Even though the evidence suggests...”

He left the end of the sentence hanging in the air. As long as the knife wasn’t the actual murder weapon they still had nothing, but he wouldn’t tell her that. She may have witnessed something that would help him. The woman in front of him seemed to battle with herself. Then she fixated him with big eyes and said: “It was me, Inspector, I killed Jonathan.”

Jack was briefly stunned. He caught himself quickly.

“How? Tell me how you killed him?”

Her hands moved on her lap in a nervous flutter.

“I’ve.. just had enough,” she said quietly. “I went to this chemist on Bourke St, and I bought a box of rat poison, arsenic as it was. I told them I needed to kill some rats in my shed.”

Jack nodded slowly.

“And then?”

“I stirred a spoonful into his coffee the next morning. I was really scared that he would taste it, but he didn’t, so I gave him his coffee every morning for a week, until he died.”

She raised tear stained eyes, trembling with fear.

“Do you think I will hang?” she asked quietly. The Inspector shook his head.

“No, I don’t think you will.”

He stood.

“You are free to go.”

She stared at him in utter shock.

“But.. I murdered my husband.”

“No, you didn’t,” Jack said and sighed, opening the door for her. Maria Geoffrey hesitantly stood, looked up at him in a mix of confusion and quiet pleading as she walked past. The Inspector closed the door firmly behind her and sat back down. He felt annoyed and shaky. The sleepless night was beginning to catch up with him along with the lack of food in his stomach and he had made no headway whatsoever in this ridiculous murder – a murder that wasn’t even on the forefront of his mind right now. A memory announced itself. Food. Concetta had packed him plenty of food. He pulled open the bottom drawer where he had stashed the bulging package as soon as he had arrived. As he laid out bread and prosciutto onto his desk, his eyes fell on a book. The collected works of Shakespeare accusingly stared back at him. He hadn’t spend much time reading lately and took the book from it’s place with a sense of guilt, as if cradling a neglected child. Surely he couldn’t. Not with Geoffrey in his interview room and two unsolved murders on his desk. But then, he had been on his feet for more than 30 hours. And Geoffrey could be perfectly silent without him. He might allow himself a little break until Papa Antonio showed up. Still with the niggling of guilt, Jack sat, pulled the book towards himself and began to flick through it for his favourite passages. And so it happened that when Collins entered ten minutes later to inform the Inspector that Strano had gone out to attend to business and was not expected back until the afternoon, he found his superior deeply enthralled in both, a great sandwich and the sonnets of Romeo and Juliet.


	16. Chapter 16

 

Miss Fisher was currently enthralled in a book of a very different kind.

 _'18, syd, Vrd, 7m, Srno, mr_ _t_ _._ It was still looking like nonsense, but it was beginning to gain some resemblance of sense.

“So, if the 18th is the date and syd indicated that the church lies on Sydney road, Vrd must stand for...”

“Verdi,” said Stefano, sitting beside at the dining table, a cup of tea in front of him. “He must have given the order, I presume.”

Miss Fisher rolled her eyes at him.

“Had I known all the relevant information at the beginning of this case, it may have been very helpful in protecting your sweetheart.”

“Concetta is not my sweetheart,” he said, a touch too quickly. “She’s...”

“An old friend?” Phryne asked with a knowing smile. He looked at her, then a thin smile crept onto his own lips.

“You are a very clever woman, Miss Fisher.”

Phryne returned her attention to the booklet.

“You think the 7m could be the amount of men they will need for the job?” she asked. Alessandro shrugged.

“Sadly I have not an inkling what Marco’s shorthand means. I probably should’ve asked him for clarification.” He smiled thinly, not hiding the tears starting to fill his eyes again. Telling him of his brother’s death had been a thoroughly unpleasant experience. As it turned out, informing family of their loved one’s demise was also not Miss Fisher’s favourite pastime. Who knew?

She let the book sink.

“Why do you think Verdi ordered your brother’s death?” she asked quietly.

Alessandro stared out the window.

“I fear he was just a pawn on the chess field,” he explained quietly. “Marco had no loyalty for either of the leaders. He just went where the money was.”

“But you did not?”

“Verdi always considered me Strano’s puppet. If he was killed by my hands, it would have been the ultimate victory.”

“What if there was another reason?” Phryne asked before he could entirely sink into depression. “Look here.”

“ _7, dks, Srno, 3m,_ _Lsa_ _,_ _shpmt_ ,” Alessandro read obediently.

“That’s today,” Phryne said, having a hard time to hide her excitement. “It seems your brother had another job lined up.”

Alessandro seemed to have visible difficulty to set aside his blues for a spell of sleuthing, but he did lean in closer to look at the pages. He wasn’t wearing any aftershave today, likely due to his hasty disappearance and Phryne noted she rather enjoyed his natural scent and the way his arm brushed against hers.

“If we assume that Marco followed some pattern with his notes, we should be able to decipher this one,” she pointed out, draining her own cup.   
“My brother was many things, but messy was not one of them,” Alessandro said, still staring down at the page. “If Vrd stands for Verdi, let’s presume that this job was ordered by Strano,” he said after a pause.

“So Verdi may have wanted to stop them?” Phryne asked. “What better way to meddle than kill one of the men in charge?”

Alessandro’s face darkened further, but he stubbornly continued to stare at the annoying code in his brother’s curly hand.

“7, dks, Strano, 3 men, Lsa, shpmt,” he read aloud.

Phryne looked up at him. “Say that again.”

“Shpmt?” he asked.

“Shipment!” she said. “Dks… the docks.” She jumped to her feet, her red lips in a broad smile. “Come along, we know where!”

Alessandro looked at her skeptically.

“What are we searching for?” he asked. She grinned.

“We’ll know once we find it.”

 

X

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end:_

_Oh churl! Drunk all and left no friendly drop_

_to help me after? I will kiss thy lips;_

 

Jack let the book sink into his lap. Those silly children. Dying for love. No matter how often he read the play, he always returned to the same conclusion. Maybe one had to see as much death as he had for it to lose its romantic charms, but he couldn’t understand its appeal. It seemed such a pointless exercise. Nevertheless he read on, ignoring the thoughts fluttering underneath the cover of his conscience about his own willingness to die for Concetta. For Phryne. Just as the dagger found its unfortunate sheath, an entirely different thought flashed through his mind. He had to stop reading in order to chase it. It had been important.

The Inspector jumped up, both the rest of his meal and his reading material forgotten, and stormed down the hall past a confused looking Constable, who just exiting the interview room with an untouched cup of tea. Mr Geoffrey didn’t bother to look up when he entered and Jack remembered why he was so annoyed with the man. Nevertheless he sat down, folding his hands on the table.

“Will you tell me one thing, Mr Geoffrey?”

There was no answer, just a sort of deafening silence.

“Why are you hiding away your feelings?”

A twitch above the eyebrow. That was all. 

“Mrs Geoffrey just confessed the murder of her husband,” the Inspector continued conversationally. “If she is convicted she might hang.”

“That stupid, stupid woman!” the man whispered under his breath.

“So, why don’t you tell me what you know?” Jack prompted. There was a pause. 

“ _I_ poisoned my brother,” Geoffrey said.

“I see,” Jack said, smiling grimly to himself. “And how did you do it?”

Geoffrey raked his fingers through his hair, disheveling himself.

“I visited Jonathan on Sunday afternoon. We fought, once again about his drugs and how he treated Maria. I was so angry that I took some rat-poison from the kitchen cabinet and I put it in his afternoon tea. Then I waited until he died. He went quickly, in the end.”

Jack nodded slowly.

“And the knife?”   
“I plunged it into his heart once he stopped moving, just to make certain.”

The Inspector considered this for a long moment.

“You are telling me lies.”

“I am not,” the man said between gritted teeth.

Jack smiled. Dying for love. It hadn’t come entirely out of fashion. But it was also still a pointless exercise.

“I’ll tell you what I believe, Mr Geoffrey,” he said casually. “You did visit your brother on Sunday afternoon. I even believe Mrs Geoffrey had left so see her mother. And you found your brother dead.”

Malcolm kept his lips shut, sweat glittering on his forehead.

“You noticed the signs of poisoning and you drew a dire conclusion: Maria Geoffrey’d had finally enough. She had murdered her husband. But you couldn’t see her hang. So, you did the only thing you could think of: you grabbed a kitchen knife and plunged it into his chest, hoping that it would distract the police from the real reason he died.”

Geoffrey said nothing. He didn’t have to, his eyes said enough. Jack leaned back, readying himself for the final stretch of this exhausting conversation.

“Mrs Geoffrey didn’t murder her husband,” he said calmly. “She gave me a false confession because she assumed that you had done it.”

“Me?” Malcolm exclaimed before he could stop himself.

“You,” the Inspector smiled. “And she was willing to go to the gallows to protect you.”

The man closed his mouth, looking both stunned and confused.

“You are free to go,” Jack said. Mechanically Malcolm Geoffrey rose and headed for the door, deep in thought.

“One more thing, Mr Geoffrey,” the Inspector called after him. The man turned. “Please tell her before it is too late.”

Malcolm nodded as if in trance. Then he was gone and Jack folded his hands on the table. He felt equal amounts of relief and emptiness. Two people were cleared, leaving him with no suspects whatsoever. He’d have to start all over again.


	17. Chapter 17

In the end, Miss Fisher had decided against her wine red gown. Being overdressed could be a terrible idea when trying not to cause a stir – which was very far from her intentions at this very moment.

“The coast is clear,” she whispered towards Alessandro, who had borrowed some clothing from Bert and was looking strangely handsome in a rugged sort of way. The cabbies were currently busy on the other side of the docks, causing trouble in order to draw attention away from their mistress. So far, they seemed to have little success. There were dock workers everywhere, logging freight from A to B in what seemed little pattern. But now a moment’s break opened up and the two sleuths raced for the corner of the next shed. Phryne cursed her heels, they had been a bad decision. They arrived just in time before the gap closed again with a small group of workers.

“What is our plan, Miss Fisher?” Alessandro whispered beside her ear. Phryne started. She’d rather thought she’d told him. It was interesting that he’d followed her all the same. 

“Over there is the office,” she said, pointing vaguely in the direction of a small hut. “We should find all paperwork there on leaving and incoming shipments.”

Two men currently strolled out the door, while another worker entered. If the whole are reminded of an anthill, the queen lived in the office.

“And how exactly do you intend to get in there without being noticed?” Alessandro asked. Just in that moment all hell broke loose. Shouting sounded from the other end of the docks, feet trampled over the asphalt as people rushed towards the source of the noise.

“Like this,” Phryne grinned and began to run. Nobody took any notice of the couple as they hastened to the opened door. Miss Fisher firmly closed the door behind them and turned the key.

When she looked around, Alessandro’s finger was already running down the ship list lying open on the table.

“ _Britannia, Empress Victoria,_ _Rona_ _, Aurelia, Oreon_ …”

“.. _._ _Louisa_ ,” Phryne said, looking over his shoulder. “Right there at the bottom.”

“That will do,” Alessandro breathed. “She’s running out at 5 tonight.”

“That should give us some hours to--”

Loud banging on the door cut Phryne’s plan short.

“Johnny, quit your bullshit,” an angry male shouted outside. The detective shot a quick panicked look around the windowless room, then realised that Alessandro was already pulling her towards the cabinet. They managed to get in and close the door just in time before the rusty lock gave way to the annoyance of the dock master.

“Johnny, you bastard, where are ya hidin’?” the man grunted, turning on his heels. Phryne watched him through a tiny gap and didn’t dare to breath.

“You callin’ for me, sir?” a voice from outside called. Moment’s later a sweaty young face was stuck through the door.

“Have you been in here, Johnny?” the dock master asked.

“Nah, there was some ruckus in hall two,” the kid said. “Had to look what’s goin’ on.”

“Right, must have been the door bein’ stuck then,” the older man concluded, grumpily sitting behind his desk and burying himself in paperwork.

Miss Fisher took a gulp of air, but her relief only lasted a moment.

“We are stuck,” she whispered. Alessandro’s muscly body was pressed full lengths against her back, probably less for erotic reasons than for some related to the small space. She enjoyed it all the same, particularly the parts of him which weren’t rendered untouched by her proximity. Carefully she turned in his arms, which brought her close to a dangerous glitter in his eyes.

“What shall we do?” he whispered, his breath brushing over her heated face. Outside, the dock master held a muffled conversation on the telephone in no hurry whatsoever. 

“I could come up with some ideas,” Miss Fisher smiled, trailing her fingertips down his chest. Alessandro’s breathing grew more laboured by the second, his lips closed in. Phryne’s eyes fell shut as she waited for the contact she craved.

“Johnny!” someone yelled at the top of his lungs, causing them to jerk apart as far as their crowded position allowed. Which was not very far at all. Phryne felt hysterical giggle rise in her throat.

“Sir?”

“Didn’t I tell you that the Britannia needs to be loaded before the Vicky?”

“I… don’t recall, Sir,…”

A muffled scream of anger cut through the rest of his stammer.

“You are bloody useless,” the man spat. Then he rushed out the door, the young kid right behind him. The two sleuths spilled from the cabinet into the empty room as soon as the door had shut behind them.

“Let’s get out of here,” Alessandro puffed, but Miss Fisher waved him into silence, quickly rushing back to the table.

“What are you doing?”

“Looking up _Louisa’s_ position and loading plan,” Miss Fisher said, absent-mindedly. “We wouldn’t want to stumble straight into their arms now, would we?...” She frowned. “He pushed the time forward. She’s running out at 3:30 now.”

Alessandro threw a look at his watch.

“That’s only two hours.”

“Not enough time to regroup,” Phryne said, frowning. Alessandro looked worriedly at the door that prevented him from freedom in this very moment.

“What do we do?”

She grinned.

“Slight change of plans. I do hope you can swim.”

 

X

 

 

The door swung open under mild protest and Jack stepped into a house that already begun to smell of dust. Maria Geoffrey had moved in with her mother after her husband’s death, which, all things considered, seemed a reasonable decision. But it left the flat she had shared with her husband on the Southern edge of Fitzroy, empty and neglected. Jack crossed the kitchen and entered the bedroom, where just two days ago he had looked down at the body of Jonathan Geoffrey. The sheets had since been folded away, the bed now empty and bare. He wasn’t sure why he’d come back. There was nothing here that would help him. Miss Fisher would find something, a quiet voice in the back of his mind pointed out. Phryne always found things. But she wasn’t interested in this case, she had made that abundantly clear.

Miss Fisher also wasn’t home, as Mr Butler had informed him about 20 minutes ago, when he had finally stopped ringing with himself and picked up the phone to speak to her. She had gone out in the company of a gentleman, Mr B had made sure to explain. Jack had bitten down on his tongue before he could have uttered anything he would have regretted. Her brief spell of worry for his health and safety had obviously found its exhaustion. Jack guessed he should’ve expected that. He hadn’t. What was worse, he felt utterly deprived of her company, though he knew how silly such a notion was. He was about to be a married man again and his sober mind told him that, if he wanted to make things work, he would have to find some distance to Miss Fisher. Yet he couldn’t seem to solve a single case without her. It was pathetic.

Sighing he sat at the edge of the mattress, twisting his hat between his fingers. There wasn’t a single picture here, not a sign of memories or love. He’d felt Bricelli’s bedroom had been bare but this one felt like a skeleton without flesh. Big cracks ran across the single mirror hanging on the wall and he couldn’t help but wonder if they were due to one of Geoffrey’s outbursts - and if it had been his fist smashing the glass or the head of his wife. Anger bubbled in the Inspector’s stomach. Men who raised their hands against their wives had always been an abhorrence to him. He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around it. And from the little Concetta had told him about her first marriage, he considered the possibility that Fabrizzi had been one of them. The thought that anyone could hurt Concetta rose like bile in his throat and he felt the sudden need to escape this stuffy bedroom. As he jumped to his feet to leave, something crackled underneath his feet. Jack frowned as he picked up the small, patterned paper sleeve, half hidden underneath the bed. A rest of white powder lined its edges. A smile spread across his features. Of course! Why hadn’t he thought of it earlier?


	18. Chapter 18

 

The water was soaking up her trouser legs. It was disgusting, but luckily it at least was a warm day. Underneath her, Alessandro was up to his chest dipped into the water, a vile mixture of the Yarra, down here laden with the rubbish and mud and whatever water had managed to push up against its current from Port Philip. Phryne clung to the iron ladder bedded into the straight concrete wall and pressed herself into the shadow of the dock as well as she could manage. Above them, about 20 dock workers carried boxes and bags up the planks of the _Louisa,_ an ant hill of excitement that she doubted would let up before the ship was about to leave the harbour. But with a little luck they would get enough of an opening to reach the chain stretching from the back of the ship to the surface, anchoring it to the Yarra‘s bed. 

A gentle tug on her pant leg drew her attention downwards.

“The man over there.” He nodded with his chin without taking his fingers off the slippery ladder. “I’ve worked with him before. His name’s Guiseppe.”

“I guess we are on the right trail then,” Phryne whispered back happily. “I would’ve hated to ruin this lovely pair of trousers for a dead end.”

Alessandro grinned. He had taken to the adventure like a duck to water. Quite literally. If Phryne’s position was uncomfortable, his was a whole lot worse. But he didn’t seem to mind. Miss Fisher returned her concentration to the men and their cargo. So far she hadn’t seen anything suspicious. The shipment seemed to consist of mostly coal, with some large sacks of food thrown in. Maybe coffee? There was movement underneath her in the water and her eyes slipped downwards to find Alessandro looking up at her.

“You all right?” she whispered quietly.

“Just enjoying the view, Miss Fisher,” he grinned, not hiding his discomfort. Phryne playfully rolled her eyes at him.

“But my watch tell me, shortly before it’s untimely death, I’m sure, that it is after three o’clock, Miss Fisher. If we intend to swim over, we need to do it soon.” 

Phryne nodded at this. Three men left the boat,  in deep conversation, one headed up  the plank . He looked like an actual seaman, a young kid who didn’t  appear to have had a proper meal in about three months. 

“I think the crew is beginning to get on board,” she whispered. “Let’s go.” 

The splashing of water was all the answer she received. Alessandro could swim, and how. He rather reminded her of a fish. By the time the detective, as quietly as possible, slipped into the brown floods, his head was already bobbing near the anchor chain. He gripped onto it, measuring its strength with his hand while he waited for Miss Fisher to catch up to him. Phryne found the cold water challenging, not only due to it’s strange undercurrents, here where salt mixed with sweet water. The dirty river water soaking through the heavy fabric of her trousers also did not help in the slightest. But finally, with gritted teeth, she arrived to where Alessandro was treading water staring up the heavy chain. With a pull of his hands, she was standing on the metal.

“After you, Miss,” he said with a broad grin.

“Still not enough of the view?” Miss Fisher asked, but climbed up obediently.

She thought she heard him  whisper “never” underneath his breath,  but there was no time for banter or flirtation now, her pounding heart reminded her. This was sleuthing.  The deck was surprisingly bare of a soul,  though someone was singing not too far away. 

The  _Louisa_ was a n old barque  which was still hanging on to the past by a thin thread, while steam- powered vessels had taken over the majority of cargo by now.  Crouching behind a massive keg, Miss Fisher glanced up into the spiderweb of ropes spun between the three masts. The young kid from earlier was climbing through it like a monkey, readying the sails. He would be her greatest concern in not getting caught. Two seamen in threadbare clothes wandered past their hiding place. Their stench lingered for a moment longer. She felt Alessandro pull a face more than she could see it. 

“Let’s go,” he whispered. “The more people are on board, the less chance we will have to get under deck.”

That Miss Fisher couldn’t argue with. They waited until the two men had disappeared at the front of the ship,  then rushed from their hiding place, following the walls. They first found the camboose, where a tall, skinny cook was chopping something. He turned out to be the origin of the terribly false singing and was in little mood to discover any sleuths sneaking past his  galley. They reached a set of steep, wooden stairs with nobody to stop them at all. Phryne’s enjoyment of the adventure was slightly dampened by her trousers clinging cold and wet to her legs. But nevertheless her heart beat manically as they reached the lower deck. Her eyes darted around the dim interior. To the  left , there seemed to be leading another case of stairs down to the cargo hold, to the  right  she suspected the sleeping quarters. 

“Someone’s coming,” Alessandro whispered into her contemplation on which way to take. A heartbeat later they climbed down the stairs, disappearing from sight just in time before a young man, dressed like an officer walked past and disappeared in the other direction. 

“That was close,” Phryne breathed. A memory flashed in front of her mind, but she had no time for this right now. The man currently reaching the cargo hold was not Jack and never would be. For some reason that thought filled her with melancholy.

‘ _I’ll never be one of them’_ , his voice echoed in her ears, _‘even if you want me to be’_. Silly man. She shook off the thoughts and followed Alessandro, who was currently inspecting a pile of sacks stacked in the corner. 

“Coal,” he said.

“Let’s see,” Miss Fisher grinned, peeling her dagger from it’s hiding place. She may have imagined Alessandro taking a tiny step backwards when the blade flashed in the dim light. She crouched down, poking a hole into the rough fabric and sticking her hand in it. It came back black.

“Definitely coal.” She frowned. “That’s seems hardly worth the secrecy.”

“Maybe they’re not all the same?” Alessandro wondered aloud, spinning on his heels. There was a lot of cargo filling the ship’s belly. Piles and piles as far as they could see. Miss Fisher felt her heart sink, but she went through a handful more samples to make sure. Everywhere she went, only black dust greeted her. By now she was cold and rather grumpy. Surely there must be something on the _Louisa_ that would warrant the note in Marco Bricelli’s book. Unless…

“Strano may have changed his plan after the murder,” she said quietly. “Which means we should probably talk to him.” 

Alessandro said nothing. She could tell that he wasn’t thrilled with the idea in the slightest. They climbed back up to the lower deck in silence.

“He will not tell me the truth,” Alessandro said, just as they reached the landing. Phryne didn’t get to reply.

“What’s with the water all over the floor. Who of you monkeys has taken a bath?!” a rough voice yelled down the stairs. Heavy footsteps followed. Phryne’s eyes shot around herself, but the only way out was forward. She raced towards the door the young man earlier had taken, praying that he had by now left. The door shut behind them, drowning out the still swearing and yelling man outside. To Miss Fisher’s surprise she found herself in a luxurious suite – as far as luxury could be managed within a boat. Heavy armchairs surrounded a game of chess. She wondered dimly how well this would go on a stormy day at sea. Beside a collection of decanters filled with a variety of liquids in different shades of amber, was sat a lovely silver teapot. Lined up behind it, several tea jars with exotic decorations. She thought briefly of Dot’s fast approaching birthday. Something like this would be rather pretty. Sadly she could hardly ask the owner of this cabin to share where he had acquired them. 

“Miss Fisher?” Alessandro whispered, just as her gloved fingers slipped over an embossed Cherry Tree. She tore herself away. Lovely tea jars would not solve this case. She followed him into the second room, where she realised what he had found. A pile of medium sized, brown boxes, neatly stacked in the corner of the sleeping quarters. 

“Could be anything,” Miss Fisher said, feeling her heart speed up.

“Guiseppe was carrying one of them,” Alessandro said. They looked at each other and grinned.

“Let’s see then.”

Phryne already slit open one of the brown papers. It revealed hundreds of little paper sleeves, all printed with the same distinct pattern.

Alessandro frowned, peeling one open before she had a chance.  He dipped  his finger into the white powder and br ought it to his lips  just as  Miss Fisher grasped his hand. 

“Don’t,” she said. “It could be anything.”

“I have a fair idea what it is,” he protested, but resisted the urge to taste it, instead wiping the substance on his wet pants. Muffled shouting sounded through the thin walls. 

“We need to get this to Jack,” Phryne said, shoving several of the packs into her pocket. “I doubt this is a delivery to a chemist.”

A small shock went through the boat just as she finished the sentence. Then the ground began to move underneath her feet. The sleuths looked at each other.

“Damn,” Alessandro breathed. “We are on our way to Sydney.”

“Not the worst city in the world, I hear,” Phryne joked, already on her way to the door. Surely there would be time to get off the boat before they left the harbour entirely. She’d almost reached it when the door swung open and the young officer appeared in the frame. From closer up, he was a lot more intimidating and not at all surprised to see them. 

“I thought I heard some stow aways sneaking about,” he boomed, waving a pistol at them. “Now, what shall I do with you?” 


	19. Chapter 19

 

Jack knocked at a familiar door in the Little Lon District. He hadn’t been here in several months, but the smell was quite unforgettable. There was no answer, which was about as much as he had expected. He tried again.

“Elsie, are you home? I need to speak to you.”

Nothing happened. He turned on his heels, pressing his lips together, wondering where else he could begin, when a key turned behind him. A nose peeked through the tiny gap in the door.

“Is that you, Jack?”

He couldn’t help smile at her sight, despite her unkempt hair and grey skin.

“It sure is.”

“I haven’t done anything,” she said, still hovering in the half open door.

“No, no you haven’t.”

He swept his eyes up and down the alleyway.

“I think you should let me in before we discuss why I’d come,” he whispered in a tone of a conspirator. “In fact, I need your help.”

He shot her a lopsided grin. She finally threw open the door for him and smiled.

“Drink?” she asked.

He wanted to say no, but encountered some inner resistance.

“Sure,” he heard himself say. He swallowed dryly. “That would be lovely.”

 

X

 

“Well, what do you have to say for yourselves?” the young man demanded.

Phryne could hear Alessandro opening his mouths and quickly pressed his arm to still him. Angry outbursts would not render this situation in the slightest better as long as they stared down the barrel of a pistol.

“You are right,” she said, straightening herself. “We were hoping to hide away until Sydney.”

She threw a brief glance at Alessandro, hoping that it would count as loving.

“We are just married.” She shrugged. “But we couldn’t afford a honeymoon and my sister said there was a ship going today… You mustn’t blame my husband, I thought it would be romantic.”

The officer nodded, his jaw clenched.

“No room on this ship for romantic getaways, lady,” he said. “Now move.”

He waved his pistol towards the door he had just come through. The sleuths exchanged a look. Phryne nodded. She went ahead, while Alessandro gallantly waved her through as it was suitable for a recently married man. He appeared to stumble in the door, catching himself on the door frame and received a harsh push into the back from their captor to hurry him along.

Then things happened rather quickly. A sharp heel found the man’s shin and as he was bending with a groan, a silver teapot collided with the back of his skull with a faint ‘clang’.

“Solid British quality,” Phryne said happily as the man folded up at her feet. “Now lets get off this stupid boat before we end up on the open ocean.”

Alessandro didn’t wait for her to repeat herself. They raced up the stairs and over deck, past the stunned looking kid from earlier and another seaman who was scrubbing the deck. Neither of them made any attempts at stopping the two briefest stow aways in history as they jumped over the railing and with two loud splashes hit the waters of the Yarra’s mouth just before the ship slipped out into Port Philip.

 

X

 

 

The smell was suffocating, like rotting flowers mixed with opium. A lady in a glittering dress greeted him with all the smiles and compliments this kind of woman usually offered. Jack had long ago learned how to refuse a woman without ever saying a word. She wasn’t very persistent, which may have explained the rather large rip in her threadbare dress, but he was fine with that. He sat at the bar and ordered a whisky, hoping to wash the taste of Elsie’s gin from his tongue. Few other men were littered around the bar at this time of day, most probably were still busy at their factory jobs. But towards the back sat one who exactly fit Elsie’s description. Jack waved the girl towards herself, whispering something to her and slipping a banknote over the bar. With a suggestive wink it disappeared in her generous cleavage. Fingernails trailed over the fabric of his suit as she slipped away. Jack sipped his drink and wished her to hurry up so he could leave this hellhole behind. His eyes began to adapt to the dim light. He watched another girl charm her way into the wallet of a young man whose smile showed only three teeth. Another man was stumbling down the stairs leading up to the opium den. He appeared to still not have quite reached the earth again. An elderly lady shoved past him on her way upstairs, eager to wrap herself in the calming smoke. Jack turned away in disgust and started as he found himself in the company of the mystery man.

“Lily tells me you are lookin’ for somethin’,” the man said in an accent that made the Inspector wonder if he’d also been upstairs already.

“I’m looking for snow,” he said shortly. “Do you have any or not?”

A broad grin answered him.

“Do I ever?”

The man, who Jack knew was known as ‘Short Archie’ peeled two small sleeves from his pocket, laying them in front of Jack. The Inspector stared quietly at the envelopes while the man named his price and offered more of his wares. Then he flashed his badge.

“You’re coming to the station with me.”

Archie paled, tried to jump off his seat. Jack’s hand shot forward, grabbing onto his wrist like a wrench and holding him in place.

“I have no particular desire to pull my gun and arrest you, but I will if you try that again,” he said quietly. Archie relaxed somewhat under his threat.

“What do you want?” he hissed.

“Answers.”

The Inspector smiled thinly and drained his whisky.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your kind thoughts. I also feel I need to apologize for the terrible Italian accent in this chapter. Enjoy.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Archiebald Richter moaned. “I haven’t done a thing.”

“You offered me cocaine in something that was not resembling a doctor’s office nor a chemist,” Jack explained calmly.

“You asked for it!”

The Inspector had a hard time not to roll his eyes.

“I don’t care about who you sell your sleeves to,” he said after a long moment.

“What I do care about is if you poison people with it. Which is why I’ve sent your cocaine off to be tested.”

The short, stout man in front of him paled.

“Poison?”

Jack peeled a photograph from a folder in front of himself. Archie stared at Jonathan Geoffrey in all his dead glory.

“Do you know him?” Jack asked, though he’d noted the flicker of recognition openly displayed.

“What if I do?”

“How often did he buy cocaine from you?”

Archie shrugged.

“Now and then. Wasn’t a regular if that’s what yar askin’.”

“Did he buy anything from you last week?”

Another shrug.

“I don’t remember every business transaction, mate.”

Jack’s jaw tightened.

“I’d recommend you think hard. Otherwise you can cool your heels in a cell downstairs until your memory returns.”

Archie lifted his hands, as if to fend off Jack’s obvious anger.

“He dropped by on Friday afternoon. I only sold him two sleeves. That was all he wanted.”

“And he was dead by Sunday,” the Inspector stated.

“I have nothin’ to do with that,” Archie said hotly. “Good stuff that is.”

Jack leaned back in his chair.

“Where exactly do you get your wares from?”

Archie nervously squirmed in his seat. He almost fell off it altogether when the door flew open, spitting a very wet lady detective into the room. Behind her, leaning in the doorframe, stood Alessandro Bricelli. Jack stared at the pair with his mouth open before he caught himself.

“Miss Fisher. You appear to have taken a bath.” His eyes flickered over her blouse still clinging to her with a hint of appreciation. “In your clothes.”

Phryne simpered.

“There may have been a slight tumble into the Yarra, Jack. Nothing worth mentioning. But I did find this.”

She carefully placed a beautiful tea tin before him, embossed with Japanese Cherry Blossoms. Jack looked at it bemused.

“Tea, Miss Fisher?”

“Not quite.”

He opened the tin and found, underneath a handful of very good Earl Grey, two mostly dry sleeves of cocaine. The pattern on it was distinct – and familiar.

Jack stared at it for a long moment thunderstruck. Then he stood and waved Miss Fisher outside into the hallway for a quiet word.

“Where did you find this?” he asked, looking up at Phryne, who appeared incredibly happy with herself.

“On a ship chartered by our friend Strano.”

“And you just happened to stumble onto it, I’m sure,” he said with a warning edge.

She simpered.

“Something like that. I assume this white powder is somewhat profitable for the Camorra.”

Jack nodded.

“It’s cocaine. And I suspect it’s laced with poison.”

Her face fell.

“Well, that’s unfortunate. Because there is a whole shipment of it on its way to Sydney right now.”

 

X

 

It took three telephone calls to convince the police forces surrounding the Rip to look out for the _Louisa_ , but an hour later a sergeant from Queenscliff Police Station telephoned to inform Jack that the ship had been towed into Port Lonsdale.

The Inspector drew a visible breath of relief as he rang off. Miss Fisher, who once again had perched herself onto his desk, smiled.

“Good news?” she asked.

“They stopped the _Louisa_ leaving the bay. Now let’s hope that my hunch was right or I will draw Strano’s anger onto myself for no gain at all.”

“I believe that is a fairly common occurrence with parents-in-law. Not that I am an expert.”

He rolled his eyes at her and returned to the interview room, where the two men were still sitting. Jack was in a good mood to have a word alone with Bricelli, preferably after a night in his cells, but he checked himself.

“Mr Bricelli,” he said instead calmly, gesturing for the other man to get up. “You might want to put on some dry clothes before I’ll question you on your brother’s demise.”

The other man nodded, his jaw clenched, his eyes blazing. There was nothing said, but Miss Fisher watched the silent stand-off between the man with faint amusement.

“Can I go home now?” Archie asked from the back. “My wife’s not well, she’ll be wondering where I am.”

Jack, who had spun to snap at him that he very certainly couldn’t, frowned.

“What exactly is your wife’s ailment?” he asked carefully, another hunch taking a hold of his mind.

The man shrugged.

“Women troubles, I suppose. She’s been feeling quite ill for a couple days now. I’ve been trying to make some money so she could see a doctor.”

The detectives exchanged a look. Then Phryne said: “Your wife, she wouldn’t happen to be fond of the occasional use of medicine, would she?”

 

X

 

Concetta was pressing her wedding dress with a small melody on her lips, when someone heedlessly knocked at the door. She considered to ignore it. There was so much to do still until the next Saturday. Then it occurred to her that it might be Gianni. The Inspector usually called at night after he had finished his work, but sometimes his way led him to their part of town and he would drop in for a cup of caffe and a few stolen kisses. It was quite amazing how quickly things had fallen into place, she contemplated. As if he had always been there. Of course, he _had_ been there, for a long time now. It had only been a few weeks into their acquaintance when she’d noticed how much she looked forward to the Thursday nights when he came to the restaurant, invariably late, invariably looking tired. Despite that there had always been a smile and a kind word for her and as time progressed she had begun to sit with him while he ate, pour his wine and listen to him talking about his day. He had been married still then and she recently widowed and it would have been inappropriate to think more of it. But she could wish. Wishing was free. And now her wishes came true. The butterflies in her stomach took flight yet again as she ran her fingertips over the white silk. Another knock tore her from her sweet daydreams. Concetta rushed down the hall, ready to fling herself into her fiance’s arms, but stopped abruptly.

“Papa? What are you doing here?”

Antonio Strano looked a little worse for wear. She could sense something was terribly wrong, but her father had never been a man of an open disposition.

“I do not need a reason to visit my own daughter,” he said. She chose not to point out that he absolutely did, instead stepping aside to allow him entry.

He followed her into the kitchen where she made caffe while he watched in silence, twisting an unlit cigarillo between his fingers.

“What is it, Papa?” she asked after they’d sat down. He fished for the sugar tin and took three spoons into his tiny cup before answering.

“Little Marco Bricelli is dead. His mother, she called me this morning.”

Concetta sat down the cup she had just raised to her lips. Words escaped her, but they weren’t necessary.

Antonio grasped for her hand.

“I am sorry to tell you, my Concetta. I know you played with them when you were little.”

“Alessandro...?”

She swallowed, wishing he would understand her without her having to detail her thoughts. Antonio’s hand retreated.

“Alessandro?! He just disappear.” He stopped, his features darkening. “If he isn’t codardo he will revenge his brother.”

Concetta shook her head slowly, coming to terms with this.

“I need to speak to Gianni. He has to find Sandro, before he does something silly.”

Antonio raised his hands.

“Do not be so dramatic, Concetta.”

But his daughter had gone through a strange change within the last minute. She raised her chin in an unbelievable act of defiance.

“I will go see him right now,” she said. Antonio stared at her, then threw back his drink and stood.

“Bene, I will take you. But I tell you, you are thinking too much. Alessandro is a grown man. He decide he does not need us – maybe now he change his mind, eh?”  
Concetta didn’t answer. She was already on her way to the door.


	21. Chapter 21

They arrived at the flat at the same time as Mac. Jack banged on the door.

“Mrs Richter! Police! Open up!”

Miss Fisher grimaced.

“Maybe not quite the approach to be taken, Jack,” she scolded, already fishing for the key Archie had handed over with shaking fingers. The fact that he may have poisoned his own wife seemed to actually cause him some strife, in difference to his powder likely having killed Geoffrey.

“I don’t wish to hurry you, but if there is a victim of thallium poisoning, we have no time to lose,” Mac said calmly, smudging her lipstick with her finger. Phryne rolled her eyes at her.

The door gave way with the quiet moan of angles which hadn’t been oiled in their lifetime. The three pushed their way through a hallway littered with clutter into thick semi-darkness. The first two rooms they entered were empty. The third was the bedroom. A small, thin frame was lying underneath a dirty blanket, completely still.

Mac was already by her side, shaking the woman’s shoulder. Glassy eyes stared back at her.

“Mrs Richter, can you hear me?”

A groan was the only answer she received. Mac pulled herself to her feet after the briefest of examinations.

“We need to get her to the hospital,” she said. “Right now.”

Jack didn’t hesitate. He slipped his hands underneath the woman, ignoring both the wetness they brushed and the stench of vomit and unwashed sheets and pulled the almost weightless frame into his arms. Miss Fisher and the doctor followed them through the dusty hallway and outside, where Mac held back her friend by the arm.

“You know there is little we can do,” she whispered. “What she needs is a miracle.”

Phryne nodded, pressing her lips together. “You may have to work one then,” she smiled thinly. The women traded a knowing look. Miracles were incredibly rare to come by in this world.

 

X

 

Mr Butler had arrived at the station by the time the detectives returned. They had left Mrs Richter in the capable hands of Mac’s staff with the knowledge that her future was hanging on a very thin thread. The butler was currently talking to Hugh Collins, who interrupted the conversation as soon as he saw his superior officer’s expression.

“Sir, Mr Butler here has brought a change of clothing for Miss Fisher and Mr Bricelli,” he announced.”

“Good afternoon, Inspector, Miss.”

Mr B’s eyes dropped down Jack’s front, which couldn’t deny his brush with a woman who had been lying uncared for in a variety of bodily fluids.

“Is Mr Bricelli in a presentable state by now?” the Inspector asked, accepting a folder from Hugh.

“He has dried off, Sir,” Mr B explained, adding carefully: “I happened to bring a spare suit as I wasn’t certain of the exact size, Sir. If you allow me to say, you might want to consider a change as well.”

Jack’s dull eyes seemed to take in the state of his clothes for the first time.

“Duly noted, Mr Butler.” He opened the door to his office. “And probably not an offer I can refuse in good conscience.”

Mr B followed him.

“Your clothes are here, Miss Fisher,” Hugh explained airily. “The Interview room is empty at the moment.”

“Thank you, Hugh,” Phryne said, tearing her eyes away from the Inspector’s office door, resisting the urge to go after him. She felt thoroughly shaken by their latest brush with death and something about it drew her into Jack’s proximity. Which was nonsense, of course, she could hardly linger in his office while he got washed and changed, he wouldn’t stand for it. And while her own trousers had mostly dried by now, her underclothes still clung damp to her skin which was the most dreadful feeling. She rather hoped she hadn’t caught herself cold in the Yarra. Deep in thought she entered the interview room and sat down the pile of folded clothes. Shedding her garments here of all places seemed very odd, but she made quick work of it. If she didn’t think too hard she could almost ignore her fancy fashioning Jack standing at the window, watching her with inquisitive eyes.

“What are you doing, Miss Fisher?” imaginary Jack asked.

“I’m changing out of my very damp clothes,” she said stubbornly.

“Not quite what I meant.”

He stepped closer, touched her cheek, as she buttoned her blouse.

“Surely you don’t intend to just give up on me, Phryne?”

His voice was coloured with a low rumble that always sent shivers down her spine.

“I’m doing no such thing!”

She heard herself sound like a stubborn child, even in her own mind. A knock tore her from her dream and snapped her back into the reality that her trousers still needed buttoning.

“Are you decent, Miss Fisher?” Collins’ voice called.

“As decent as I’ll ever be,” she returned. He entered slowly as if scared to find her still sans clothes and she simpered at his flushed cheeks.

“What is it, Hugh?”

“This report just came through, Miss. It’s the results from the powder...”

Miss Fisher snatched the folder from her fingers before he had finished the sentence.

“Cocaine laced with thallium, just as Jack suspected.” She hummed underneath her breath. “Poor Mr Geoffrey never stood a chance.” She tried not to think too hard about Mrs Richter.

“I took the statement from Mr Richter, just as the Inspector asked,” Hugh added carefully. “He said he had a tip-off where the cocaine was being stored and helped himself to some, thinking a few sleeves wouldn’t be noticed.”

Miss Fisher sighed.

“He’d probably been right, had it not been poisoned. How many of those sleeves did he sell already?”

“Only three, Miss Fisher, aside from the one he gave his wife. Luckily it was a slow week.” Hugh’s face fell. “But the other woman has also passed away. I spoke to City East this afternoon. She was found Saturday morning.”

“So, that’s murder charges for Mr Richter...” For some reason the fact that the man would lose his freedom on top of his wife was depressing to Phryne.

“He’s locked up downstairs, Miss. Along with Mr Bricelli.”

Her head snapped up.

“Why on earth would Mr Bricelli be in a cell?” she asked hotly. Hugh shrugged helplessly.

“The Inspector ordered...”

Phryne was already halfway down the hall, ripping the Inspector’s door open in righteous anger and finding him in shirt sleeves with his trousers still unbuttoned. He hurried to at least rectify the latter, flushing deeply.

“Miss Fisher?” he asked the frozen lady detective. “Would you care to at least close the door if you must burst into my office unannounced as usual?”

Obediently she let the door fall shut behind herself. The feelings flooding her body and brain were, of course, erotically tinted, she was a woman of flesh and blood after all. But astonishingly it wasn’t the dominant notion. She watched him finish getting dressed in a slightly too big suit, battling the annoying urge to stop his hands in their feverish work. Jack was always so very proper and in control, it was too easy to forget he was a vulnerable human being. She’d caught glimpses at times of him losing his composure, of his armour slipping. They were rare and always too brief.

A burning, cruel thought wondered dimly how much Concetta had seen, how much he had willingly shown her. And how little he would be prepared to share with herself as he drifted further away. A distance of his own design, she knew. They couldn’t stay who they had been. The loss felt suffocating.

As if he’d sensed her thoughts, she raised his eyes to her, looking at her with a soft, dark expression while his fingers slipped over his necktie. Phryne pressed her lips together in order to not give into her urge to touch him. She rounded the table, now standing near the fireplace and attempted to find anything else but to look at him. She saw it too late, the photograph of Concetta on his desk. It hadn’t been there the other day, she was certain. Like he had erected another wall between them.

Bitter jealousy and desperation slammed through her with so much force, it threatened to knock her off her feet. Instead she sat, folded her legs neatly and clutched the folder onto her lap with trembling fingers. She would not lose her head over a man’s silly decision to marry. It wouldn’t do. Jack sat, finally finished and she realised that they hadn’t spoken a word in several minutes. He looked at her as if he could see right through her and she stubbornly stared back, not even trying to hide her emotions.

“Why did you feel it necessary to lock up Alessandro?” she heard herself say. Not the conversation starter she had intended, but it would do. His expression changed instantly.

“I didn’t trust him to not run again the minute I turn my back,” Jack said.

“He is a free man, he may go wherever he wishes,” Phryne argued with a forced smile.

“Mr Bricelli is a suspect in a murder.”

“Hardly.”

They angrily glared at each other, neither backing down.

“Alessandro did _not_ kill his brother.”

“How can you be sure? Was he tugging you into bed at the time?”

Phryne felt her composure slip.

“And what if he was, Jack?” she asked hotly. There was a pause, in which he swallowed hard.

“I don’t trust him,” the Inspector finally said, aiming for a sober tone, which enraged her even more. “Which is entirely reasonable, considering his entanglement with the Camorra.”

“How about your own entanglement? Marrying the daughter of the padrino hardly counts as keeping your distance, Jack.”

That one had hit home, she could tell. He visibly retreated.

“My wedding is not up for discussion, Miss Fisher,” he said coldly.

“I’m well aware of that, Jack.”

He raised his eyebrows at her.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Clearly my opinion on the matter is irrelevant. It was never asked for.”

He seemed to gasp for air.

“What would that have accomplished? I already know your _opin_ _i_ _on_ , Miss Fisher.”

It was Phryne’s turn to run out of breath.

“I knew I couldn’t expect you to be thrilled with my decision, even before I reached it,” Jack said, much quieter. “But you’ve made it abundantly clear that I do not possess what it will take to satisfy you.”

Miss Fisher opened her mouth to protest, then closed it again.

“So I will give myself where I am wanted.”

There was a quiet resignation to his voice which rendered her momentarily speechless. He couldn’t possibly be serious. Jack dropped his gaze to his fingers and she sensed something very akin to tears in his tone when he spoke again.

“All I ask is that you accept my decision, Phryne.”

She felt her own vision blur.

“Jack, I...”

The door flew open with the briefest of knocks.

“Sir, you have visitors,” a visibly frustrated Constable Foster announced. Phryne’s head turned to watch Concetta and Antonio Strano enter. Jack’s fiancee measured her with a long, curious look. Phryne checked her emotions as well as she could, but she feared they were written all over her face. Unseeingly she watched Jack greet Concetta with the restraint he would use at his work place, even for his spouse, and her replying in kind with a tenderness that rendered Miss Fisher nauseous. She rose, again stepping towards the fireplace in order to not have to look at them together, attempted to sort her racing thoughts.

“Mr Strano,” Jack finally said, his tone changed. “I was waiting for you.”

He pointed towards to the now empty chair in front of his desk. Papa Antonio glared at Phryne, but sat all the same.

“I’m only here for Concetta,” he said, uncomfortably moving in his chair. “What is this?”

The Inspector briefly fiddled with his notes.

“Is this at all familiar to you?”

Miss Fisher recognised the letter Alessandro had been sent. She’d never gotten a chance to tell Jack about its meaning.

“Mr Alessandro Bricelli received this letter shortly before his brother was murdered,” the Inspector explained. Phryne noted dimly that Concetta was standing behind him, her hand resting casually, possessively on his shoulder. Strano stared at the piece of paper, then threw it on the desk.

“What is this nonsense. I never wrote any of this! You are trying to frame me.”

Miss Fisher cleared her throat.

“I believe Mr Verdi is trying to frame you,” she said calmly.

Three pairs of eyes stared at her in astonishment.

“Alessandro Bricelli is of the opinion that another high ranking Cammoristi is responsible, in a bid to set the Bricellis against Papa Antonio,” she added with a glance at the Inspector, then returned her attention to Strano. “But a comparison of your hand with the letter should make things clearer.”

Strano huffed under his breath, while Concetta grasped for the letter.

“This is not Papa’s writing,” she said, then her eyes widened as she read the message. “This was sent to Sandro?” she asked, paling. “Is he…?” She left the sentence hanging in the air as if she could not face to even to speak the words. Jack touched her hand in a calming fashion and Phryne found herself inspecting an interesting trophy on the mantle.

“Mr Bricelli is perfectly safe,” Jack said, then called, “Collins?”

Hugh appeared in the door, obviously wishing to flee as soon as he became aware of the collection of people in the room. “Please escort Mr Bricelli up here,” the Inspector requested.

Hugh agreed and fled.

“Now that that’s sorted,” the Inspector said calmly, peeling the cocaine sleeves from their evidence bag. “I’d like you tell me about this.”

Strano shrugged.

“What would you like me to say?”

“Did you send those to Sydney today on a ship called the _Louisa?”_

Another shrug.

“I may have. A little medicine has never hurt anybody.”

“In this case you are very wrong,” the Inspector explained through gritted teeth. “This cocaine is laced with a deadly poison?”

Strano started.

“What?!”

“Two people are dead,” Jack said coldly. “Another one is in the hospital, fighting for her life. Dying of your cocaine!”

Instead of an answer, Strano raised his eyes to his daughter, whose face had turned to stone. Phryne watched the scene unfold as if through a haze. Angry Italian words were exchanged at a rate that made it hard to understand. But it was clear that Concetta was very, very angry.

“You cannot pin this on me,” Strano finally spat. “This is my cocaine, yes, but I know nothing of poison.”

“You may have known, but you do not care,” Concetta accused him quietly. “You always talk about the famiglia, but you never stopped Mama from going to the opium dens. You let her kill herself and now you kill more people with your business. You do not care...”

Strano jumped to his feet, taking a step towards his daughter.

“Concetta, your mother was a silly woman. How many times did I try to stop her, but she would not listen...”

His daughter took a step backwards when he tried to touch her.

“I do not wish to see you anymore,” she said quietly. Strano looked as if she had struck him. Miss Fisher felt almost sorry for the old man.

“Fine,” he said, throwing his hands in the air. “Fine, you all may turn your back on me.”

Concetta ignored him, grasping for Jack’s hand, who had stood to support her.

“Please Gianni, let us get married. Pronto. I do not want to wait any longer.”

Jack swallowed hard.

“It is only another week until the 18th,” he tried weakly, but she shook her head.

“Please,” she said, her voice teary. “Marry me in the morning and take me away from this dirty city.”

The Inspector hesitated or maybe Phryne was just imagining it since her own world seemed to have ground to a screeching halt. Then he nodded and pulled his crying bride to his chest. Over her shoulder he ignored the scowling Strano, his eyes finding Phryne’s. She thought she saw doubts flicker through them, but it may just have been her desires playing tricks on her mind.

It was not the perfect time for Alessandro Bricelli to enter the room, but then life is hardly ever perfect. He stared at Concetta wrapped into the Inspector’s embrace, the pain in his expression all too familiar to Miss Fisher. He caught himself quickly.

“What is happening here?” he asked with a faint smile. Miss Fisher tried a smile herself and failed miserably.

“Congratulations are in order,” she declared, the effort of sounding happy straining every ounce of her acting abilities. “We are celebrating a wedding in the morrow.”


	22. Chapter 22

 

The fire crackled quietly against the cold night outside. Miss Fisher sipped on some concoction Mr Butler had handed her against her oncoming cold, her legs curled up onto the chaise. The drink tasted faintly of flowers, but it barely registered. Her head was too full of thought.

A quiet knock drew her attention to the open parlour door, where Alessandro stood, back in his dark three-piece suit, his hair still wet after a bath.

“May I join you?” he asked. Phryne waved him inside. He sat beside her, his hands folded in his lap.

“I’m afraid I cannot offer you any of this drink,” she smiled, getting up to pour him something else. “How did you fare with the aftermath of our wet adventure?” she asked after handing him a tumbler.

“So far no side effects…” he took a sip, “...other than the surprise marriage of our old friends.”

Phryne sat and sighed.

“It appears a little rushed, I grant you. But then, what difference does a week make?”

Even as she said it, her stomach curled into a tight little ball. She’d thought she had another week to brace herself. Only for her grace period to have shrunk into a single night.

“Will you be joining them?” Alessandro asked into her thoughts. Phryne nodded. It had been a question she’d asked herself for hours. While sitting in the background while Jack spoke his vows appeared an insupportable thought, she knew only witnessing it with her own eyes would make it real. Aside from that, the unspoken threat in Marco’s book still lingered on her mind. What she said out loud was: “Of course. Why wouldn’t I join them?”

Alessandro looked at her searchingly.

“Let us not lie to each other, Miss Fisher,” he said quietly, taking her hand. “You have as much reason for not wishing to be present as I.”

She pressed his hand, quiet understanding passing between them.

“And yet, for that very reason, we must go,” Alessandro said. “We care for them and I am not convinced they are safe.”

Phryne reached out to touch his cheek.

“You are a good man,” she said quietly. He smiled.

“I cannot take such a compliment without doubt,” he said after a long moment. “But from your lips it means something, Miss Fisher.”

She returned his smile, her fingers slipping up his arm. Warmth bled through the fabric, mixing with his now familiar scent into the perfect comfort for her raw soul. Alessandro reached out his own hand, carefully weaving it into her hair. When he pulled her in for the gentlest of kisses she didn’t resist. His lips were hot on hers, infused with the smokey taste of whisky. She eagerly returned his kiss, clutching onto his back, pushing the dark thoughts away. But Jack refused to be banned from her mind, even as Alessandro pulled her into his arms, began to unbutton her blouse.

_You made it abundantly clear that I do not possess what it will take to satisfy you…_

She pulled back. It took a moment for Alessandro to realise the shift in mood and he resurfaced, panting.

“I am sorry,” Phryne said, feeling as if she had emptied a bucket of cold water over both their heads.

“No, I... presumed... I apologize.” Alessandro stood stiffly, the effects of their passionate kiss still very visible on his body. She held him back by the wrist, shook her head, trying to reveal her meaning.

“I wanted you to,” she said quietly. “But it seems ghosts are not easily chased away tonight.”

He nodded, then leaned down and pressed a kiss to the top of her hair.

“Maybe it is better if we face our ghosts soberly,” he whispered. Then he withdrew to bed, leaving her alone in the parlour. Miss Fisher pulled her knees to her chest and finally let the tears flow.

 

 

X

 

In another part of town, two men nurtured their glasses of wine with little concern to its body or depths.

“Leave town, she said,” Antonio Strano said, his speech betraying that he’d drunk more than was good for him. “Ragazza stupida!”

“You know she and Gianni will never have peace in town,” Vincenzo said calmly, draining his glass. He regretted by now that he had followed his father’s urgent invitation.

“Bloody poliziotto,” Antonio Strano grumbled, draining his glass yet again. “Why does she have to marry _him_.”

“Because she loves him?” his son pointed out carefully, emptying the remaining wine into his own glass in the hope that it would keep his father from drinking any more. Antonio Strano was not a pleasant man when drunk. Now he watched his doings out of glassy eyes.

“Sofie!” he called. The petite woman turned behind them, where she had been setting up table for the next day and sighed quietly, but obediently approached. “Bring us some grappa,” Strano demanded.

She bustled away and Vincenzo returned his attention back to his father.

“You need to give her time,” he said. “She will come around. You know Concetta.”

“Time? She never needed time before. Until she met this stupid poliziotto. He sit at my table, drink my wine and steal away my daughter!”

He slammed his fist onto the table with so much force that the glasses rattled dangerously.

“But I will not allow it!” he promised darkly.

Vincenzo turned and waved away Sophie, who was approaching with a bottle of clear liquid. He rather felt his father had had enough.

 

X

 

 

By the time Inspector Robinson said goodnight to Constable Brandon the clock had struck midnight. The young policeman barely looked up from his desk as his superior officer departed. He had become a father recently and had a hard time making it through the late shifts. Jack felt sorry for him, but didn’t mention it.

The night air was cool, somewhat calming his fluttering nerves. Wind riffled through the trees as he walked to where the motorcar was waiting patiently, pulling a squashed pack of cigarettes from his coat pocket. He didn’t smoke often, didn’t like the way it made his fingers and clothes reek, never had enjoyed kissing Rosie either after she’d had one. But he did love the way the smoke curled through his lungs, shrouding the world into calming fog. Jack leaned against the car and stared at the moonlight, half hidden behind a cloud. He was certain that some nervosity was natural for a man who was to be married in the morning. A simple telephone call to the presbytery of St Ambrose had secured them the support of Father Lorenzo. He had been sorry to inform him though that the only time he could wed them was at half past seven, before the morning mass. Jack was torn if to be relieved or disappointed by this development. The romantic part of him didn’t feel a wedding should be the footnote in a busy priest’s day nor should it happen without guests or flowers. Or with the groom having barely slept because he’d had to sort out his cases until late into the night. And it almost certainly shouldn’t take place because the bride wanted to escape her father.

On the other side, whoever may have been threatening the wedding wouldn’t be able to change their plans this quickly. And, his brain added before he had a chance to stop it, Phryne Fisher was unlikely to make an appearance so shortly after sunrise.

Leaving Melbourne was not as easily accomplished. There were realities to moving themselves to a quiet place in the countryside, a house to be sold and another one to be bought, a transfer applied for to a quiet police station with no murders and no lady detectives to haunt him. Jack pulled up his shoulder in an effort to shake off the thoughts of Phryne.

Miss Fisher’s expression, the heartbreak he’d imagined he’d spotted in her eyes, her forced smiles and faux happiness. He had truly never intended to hurt her, not _expected_ her to hurt like this. Be annoyed with his fickleness, surely. Lament the change in their work together, grieve their flirtations, the lost opportunities… But not...this. It made him question himself, his decisions, the future. Jack straightened his shoulder.

What was done, was done. Concetta needed him, now more than ever. She was intent on burning every bridge that still connected her with her father and while the policeman in Jack welcomed this decision, the lover’s heart bled for her. She’d lost her mother to a motorcar accident several years ago, he knew, but what he hadn’t known until tonight was that she had left an opium den minutes earlier. All anger at her father had broken its way through the fragile truce tonight. He’d never seen her like this before. He never cared to see it again.

Jack rubbed out the remainder of his gasper on the cobbles and climbed into the driver’s seat. The dimly lit streets flitted by like flickers of thought, dark, bright, melting into a twilight of confused nothingness. He reached his empty house with a headache and the burning desire to sleep. Heavy hands opened the door into a stuffy hallway. Jack let the door fall shut behind himself and took in the emptiness of his home. Tomorrow someone else would be living here. It was the first time that this thought was bittersweet to him.


	23. Chapter 23

A bird warbling right in front of her window woke her from restless dreams. Phryne resisted the urge to throw her pillow at the intruder and pulled herself into a sitting position. She was shivering in the cool morning air. Dawn was still battling the night outside, but she felt no desire to go back to sleep nor believed it a possibility. Jack’s wedding day. It promised to be beautiful.

With one quick motion Miss Fisher threw the sheets off herself and jumped out of bed. No time to lose, many things had to be done. By the time Mr Butler came to wake her, she was sitting in the bathtub.

“Is Dot awake yet, Mr B?” she asked with fake cheer.

“She is currently making tea,” he informed her, somewhat stunned.

“Please send her up, I would like to discuss something with her,” Phryne asked, before climbing from the tub and sending her butler withdrawing before a blush could take hold of his cheeks. Dorothy Williams pattered into the room mere moments later, but didn’t find her mistress there.

“Miss Phryne?”

“In here, Dot.”

The companion realised that the door to the dressing room was a crack open and knocked gently. In the middle of the room stood Miss Fisher already in her undergarments, turning on her stockinged heels.

“I might need some help choosing an appropriate dress,” Miss Fisher said. Dot stared at her as if she had grown a second head in the last minute or so.

“What kind of appropriate, Miss?” she asked carefully. Phryne crinkled her nose at the question.

“Well, there is a certain etiquette as a wedding guest. And we wouldn’t want to offend the Inspector and his bride now, would we?” she asked, her finger slipping over an ivory dress she had been dying to wear with a certain amount of regret. Dot still stood, rooted to the spot. Now she cleared her throat noisily.

“What is it, Dot?” Phryne asked.

“You… Miss, are you sure you wish to go to the wedding?” Dorothy asked bravely. “I’m sure the Inspector would understand...” She trailed off.

Phryne stopped in her search for a dress.

“Jack is a dear friend,” she said “and I can’t miss his wedding. No matter how inconvenient a time he may have chosen.”

“That’s not...why.. I...mean...”

Miss Fisher began to feel sorry for her companion. The girl was clearly seeing the obvious and was trying to protect her. She halted, twirled towards Dot and dropped the act.

“Dot, sometimes we are bound to do things that are unpleasant in order to do the right thing,” she said, a lot more soberly and blinked back a stray tear. Dot nodded, looking like she was about to cry herself.

“So, why don’t we find that dress?” Phryne asked, pressing her companion’s sweaty fingers. Another nod. Miss Fisher twirled, shaking off the emotional moment as quickly as it had come and pulled out something tomato red with gold applications.

“What about this?”

Dot looked uncomfortable.

“Miss, I believe to outshine the bride might be considered rude...”

Phryne couldn’t help but smirk at the thought, but obediently hung the dress back in place.

“Well, Dot, as you can see, I really do need your help.”

 

X

 

Dorothy had outdone herself. When Miss Fisher climbed from the Hispano-Suiza in an emerald green dress in which the morning sun sparkled lazily, she felt she could take on the world – or at least the Inspector’s wedding. St Ambrose church lay quietly in the early light, framed by trees and rose bushes. It was a small, friendly church, so very fitting to a man like Jack Robinson.

While she was contemplating the location, a grey looking Dot climbed from the passenger seat. She had chosen a sensible ensemble in several shades of yellow and brown and looked rather nice. But, the most stunning wedding guest, Miss Fisher rather suspected, was Alessandro Bricelli, who looked every bit as handsome as she had expected. They were still assembling themselves on the pavement, smoothing out skirts and flinging scarves into the right position, when a police motorcar pulled up.

“I’ll see you inside,” Phryne whispered to Dot, who took Alessandro’s arm and maneuvered him into the church.

Jack looked like he hadn’t slept all night, dark rings underneath his eyes, his expression stony. She felt her heart go out to him.

“Good morning,” she said as upbeat as she could manage through the giant knot in her throat. “So the big day has finally arrived?”

“A little faster than expected,” he smiled, fiddling with his bow tie and rendering it even more crooked. His hands were shaking with nerves.

“Allow me,” she said, reaching out and expertly retying the silky fabric. As she did, her fingertips brushed his neck and she thought she heard him draw a sharp breath through his teeth. Bravely she fought on, avoiding his eye. Finally she had succeeded.

“There, much better,” she smiled and found him looking at her. He withdrew his eyes as soon as he noted her attention.

“Thank you, Miss Fisher,” he said, clearing his throat. “I may have been a little nervous this morning.”

“I believe that is the unique right of a bridegroom,” she said, taking his arm. Together they wandered across the courtyard towards the bluestone building.

“Thank you for coming,” Jack said quietly, as they reached the door and paused for a moment. “I didn’t think you would.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” Phryne lied with a brief flutter of her lashes. She reached out, brushing a speck of dust from his coat, sorting her thoughts. “And for what it’s worth Jack, you never lacked anything but my courage.”

He tilted his head at her in question, as if he wasn’t sure he’d heard right. The melody of a car horn being pressed repeatedly, covered up any answer he could have uttered. To his surprise, Bert and Cec jumped from their taxicab.

“The red raggers, Miss Fisher, really?” he asked, with a faint smile quirking at the corner of his lips. Phryne simpered, turning her eyes skywards.

“I may have asked them to bring some things for your wedding,” she explained. Under Jack’s stunned expression the cabbie’s logged massive baskets overflowing with flowers towards the church doors.

“Dot’s inside,” Miss Fisher called before turning back to Jack. “I assumed preparations hadn’t been quite finished yet.”

The Inspector took a deep breath.

“You never cease to surprise me,” he said quietly. Miss Fisher shrugged.

“Consider it my wedding gift. I had no time to buy you anything else.”

She didn’t tell him that she had also asked the Cabbies to carry today. The sore feeling in the pit of her stomach hadn’t let up since last night. But in the light of the sunshine and Jack’s tender smile, her dark thoughts seemed ridiculous.

“Shall we,” he asked, offering his arm again. They stepped into the twilight of the church. A handful of guests was already sprinkled through the wooden benches. Phryne had no doubt that many hadn’t made the date on such short notice. Eyes were turned towards them, she could hear some whispers, wondered if it was appropriate to be led into the church by the groom. She’d never felt drawn to a married man before, which was surprising enough, considering that matrimony appeared to be the default in society. The road more traveled.

She glanced at the Inspector, who seemed oblivious to the stir they caused in his wedding guests. Instead he stared at the altar as if he was walking towards the gallows. She pressed his arm.

“Jack,” she whispered. She had to repeat herself before he managed to look at her. The expression from earlier was back. She couldn’t make out if it was excitement or terror.

“You may have to draw a breath sometime in the near future,” she reminded him gently. He didn’t answer, but she felt him breath just as they arrived at the altar. Here she had to leave him. There was a moment of hesitation that she more sensed that actually felt. Her fingers slipped off his arm, sense drew her away from him, left him standing alone at the front of the aisle. Then everybody stood. The door opened, organ music set in. Jack had turned, looked at his bride walk down the aisle on the arm of her brother. Concetta looked stunning, almost ethereal, Phryne had to admit, her feet barely seemed to touch the ground. All thought on outshining the bride appeared suddenly ridiculous. She wanted to curl into a ball and weep, but instead she watched on as Concetta arrived at Jack, who looked at her with this tiny smile that had been aimed at herself too many times to remember. A kind looking, young priest greeted the happy couple and asked the congregation to sit as he begun his spiel.

“Should anyone here present know of any reason, why this man and this woman should not be joined in holy matrimony, speak now or forever hold your peace,” he cut through the fog that surrounded Phryne’s brain. She could feel Dot’s burning stare on her, pressed her lips together to keep the words from spilling over them. The priest nodded with satisfaction. The moment had passed. Phryne drew a shuddering breath. The ceremony went on, blurred into a random salad of words, until she heard Jack’s familiar voice, trembling with nerves.

“I, John Anthony Robinson take thee, Concetta Maria Fabrizzi to be my wife…”

Miss Fisher blinked back annoying tears as she listened to him pledging his life to Concetta. It was no use. She cursed herself for having decided to come. Why had she? He’d had made it to ‘better or worse’ when some commotion outside snapped Miss Fisher out of her personal pool of pain and confusion. Heavy boots raced over the courtyard. She jumped to her feet.

“Jack!” she yelled, the very moment the door burst open. A shot fell. Phryne jumped.


	24. Chapter 24

 

Jack could feel his hand go clammy within Concetta’s grasp as the priest spoke of the meaning of love between husband and wife. She truly was breathtaking in her wedding gown, he knew, but he felt as if he was separated from the world by a thick wall of glass.

If for the last weeks his chest and mind had been crowded with emotion and thoughts, now it had all fallen away, everything was clear. Concetta smiled up at him with loving eyes and he did his best to mirror her emotions, but his heart burned with righteous anger at himself. What had he done? How could he be Concetta’s husband if a single smile from Phryne Fisher, a few silly roses and pansies could throw him for a tailspin?

He fought down the urge to flee. Barely. This wasn’t wedding flutters. It was a mistake, had been a mistake all along. As much as he wanted to hold someone in his arms tonight, it wasn’t Concetta. And as he looked down into her dark eyes, where tears of joy were shimmering, he knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was the biggest scoundrel under the sun. But it was too late. There was nothing to be done without making a mockery of her love and devotion. Nowhere to go but forward.

A pause in the priest’s speech made him realise that he had missed his cue.

“John,” the young man repeated gently, obviously used to nervous grooms. Jack nodded, with some difficulty shaping his heavy tongue into uttering the words.

His vows drowned in the heartbeat drumming in his ears, mocking him. Too-late. Too-late. Too-late. Too-late. Too-late. Too-late. Too-late.

He heard Phryne scream, shattering the wall of glass. Jack awoke with a snap to see the armed men storming the back of the church, immediately opening fire.

“Everybody down,” he yelled at the top of his lungs, a protective hand automatically pushing Concetta out of harm’s way, while the other found his weapon. Before he could pull it, however, he was hit by a sparkly, green cannonball. His head hit the floor with a resounding clunk. For a moment everything went black. When he resurfaced, Miss Fisher was lying on top of him, trying to scramble to her feet, not without burying her knees into all the wrong places.

“Come on,” she whispered. Without protest he crawled after her behind the freestanding altar. Here they found Father Lorenzo curled up into a ball.

“What do those people want?” the priest asked, his voice trembling.

Phryne shrugged, fishing the golden pistol from her handbag.

“I suspect they are not fond of this wedding,” she said happily. The Inspector couldn’t help the faint suspicion that they weren’t the only ones. But this was not the time to consider how he felt about that. He searched for his own weapon, breathed a sigh of relief when he found it still in place. Phryne raised her eyebrows at him.

“Carrying on your wedding day, Inspector?” she asked.

“And for good reason, it seems, Miss Fisher,” Jack said grimly. He glanced at Concetta who was cowering behind the wooden pulpit. She was safe, thank God. At least as safe as anyone was in a church where shots were fired. He spied back into the aisle, where seven men stood, heavy rifles clutched to their chests, bulges in their pants and coats speaking of more weapons. The leader stared right at him.

“Hey, policeman,” he taunted in a heavy accent. “Come out!”

Slowly, his heavy boots clunking on the floor, the walked further down the aisle. There were guests cowering between the benches, Jack knew, fully exposed to the bastard’s wrath.

“Show yourself, codardo!” the man called again. Jack twitched, but a hand shot forward, gripping his in an iron grasp.

“No acts of heroism, Jack,” Phryne said sharply. “Six bullets against their riffles is not an even fight. They won’t kill your guests. They are trying to make a statement and need somebody to tell the tale.”

He wasn’t sure how she could even pretend to know this, but he allowed himself to sink back against the cool stone of the altar.

“Sweet, sweet Concetta,” the leader cooed now. “Where are you hiding?”

Breathless silence settled over the church. Jack stared at his bride, who, to his utter shock actually seemed to be crawling to her feet.

“Concetta, no,” he hissed, but she either couldn’t hear him or wasn’t listening. He was about to leave the cover of the altar to stop her, when someone shouted something in Italian towards the back of the church. Whatever it had been, the men didn’t seem particularly thrilled with it. They turned and opened fire at the figure of a man who had appeared between the benches and shot a handgun at the strangers with as little restraint as luck. From the corner of his eyes Jack noted a shadow race towards Concetta’s hiding place while the attackers were distracted. A muffled cry tore his attention back towards the rows where Bricelli clutched at his arm and dropped the weapon.

“Sandro!” Concetta yelled, on her feet already to run to her friend’s aid, but Vincenzo reached her just in time to stop her from her suicide mission and dragged her back behind the pulpit, talking at her rapidly. To Jack’s left, Phryne was having a silent waving discussion with an unknown subject. Jack stretched to spy around the corner and spotted Cec lying pressed against the floor in front of the benches, gesturing at his mistress.

“They’ll try and distract them,” Phryne explained quietly without looking at Jack.

One of the thugs had decided that Sandro was someone worthy of a bullet, walking towards the injured and unarmed man with an outstretched gun and a smug grin on his face.

“Ah, Bricelli. Little Concetta still cares for you, eh?” he drawled, sounding not Italian at all.

He spat at Alessandro’s feet who stared at him in impotent anger. Blood was spilling from between his fingers where he was still holding onto his arms. “Come out, bitch, or I’ll shoot him down right there. Your choice,” he called. Behind the pulpit there was a viscous struggle between the siblings. Vincenzo won by the look of it.

“Looks like your faith in the Stranos hasn’t paid off after all,” the man grinned, cocking his weapon. Alessandro stared him dead in the eye.

“I will not allow you to hurt her,” he said, loud enough for the whole church to hear. The Inspector swore underneath his breath. Great, dying for love appeared very much in fashion at the moment. He’d had his suspicions the previous afternoon, but now things were becoming clearer.

“Beats me what yar gonna do about it,” the man laughed, pressing the weapon against Bricelli’s forehead. A shot fell. Jack squeezed his eyes shut briefly. When he opened them again, he found to his astonishment that Bricelli was still standing. The other man looked down at his chest and then, almost comically slow dropped to his knees. In the benches stood Bert, his gun still aimed.

“How about you try on someone your size?” he asked. The gunmen swiveled around and were greeted by a salve of shots. As they returned fire, taking chunks out of the wood behind which Bert had ducked again, somewhere else in the church bullets fell.

“Our turn, Jack,” Miss Fisher said. Jack was already on his feet.

“Eh, Stronzi, li mortacci tua,” he yelled. He fired three bullets in rapid succession, supported by Miss Fisher’s pistol, then hid again behind the altar, his breath ragged.

“Impressive, Jack,” Phryne grinned. “Should I ask how you learned to insult their ancestors?”

“I’d rather you didn’t,” the Inspector smiled before worriedly opening and closing the cylinder of his weapon. Father Lorenzo prayed quietly underneath his breath.

In the church the round continued. Bert and Cec bounced back and forth, Vincenzo and a couple of his friends had joined in. But their bullets wouldn’t last long either, Jack knew. They had come prepared for a wedding, not a gun fight. He could only hope that the thugs, now trapped in the middle of the church and firing in random directions, would run out before them. He looked up at the golden cross crowning the high altar. The might need a miracle.

“How would they have known this quickly,” he wondered, half to himself. He didn’t say what he was thinking: that one of the few people Concetta had asked to witness her marriage, was bound to be a traitor. 

“My money is on Papa Antonio,” Phryne said grimly. “He heard of the wedding right from the horse’s mouth.”

“Are you calling me a horse, Miss Fisher?” Jack asked. She rolled her eyes at him. “I cannot believe he would allow his own daughter to be targeted,” the Inspector pointed out more soberly. Miss Fisher merely shrugged.

“For some men the whole world is a chessboard, Jack.”

She counted under her breath and they jumped up again, shooting another salve at the men who had drawn dangerously close. Answering bullets flew around their ears as they dropped back down into their hiding place, both out of breath.

“I’m out of bullets,” Jack said in quiet resignation. Miss Fisher didn’t answer. He knew her small pistol couldn’t hold much more than his.

He let his eyes fall shut, tried to catch his breath, still ragged after their close brush with death and enjoyed Miss Fisher’s perfume in his nose and her arm brushing his, trying not to think too hard about doom closing in.

“We are going to die, aren’t we?” a wide eyed Father Lorenzo said suddenly. Jack had all but forgotten his existence at this point in time.

“You are a true optimist, Father,” Miss Fisher quipped. But neither of them could deny that there was no way out. Things were looking very grim indeed. Which was, naturally, the very moment another group of heavily armed men broke through the church door.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good afternoon. Before you get stuck into the last chapter, a quick thank you to everybody involved. The lovely SetV, who talked me out of a darker version of this fic and has been along for the ride as both my alpha reader and the little voice in my head. To the islanders, particularly Hismissus, 221A_brina and Suzilynn - you know what you've done! And to everybody who followed this fic or even left me a comment (or 10). Thank you! Now, lets get on with it.

If the seven thugs had been scary, the group of heavily armed men now pouring into the church was utterly terrifying. Phryne could hear the suppressed gasps and screams from the people still scattered trough the benches. She couldn’t fault them, there must have been at least 20 mobsters. But to her surprise, the thugs, who were so close now that she could make out the hair in their nostrils, seemed not glad to see their fellow men.

The leader swivelled on his feet as soon as the door opened and threw up his weapon.

“Strano!” he said, sarcasm dripping of his voice. “How lovely of you to join us. You’re a little late for your daughter’s wedding, no?”

The second group spat Antonio Strano to the front, looking mightily enraged.

“Bastardo, you dare interrupt her marriage?!”

“I guess he wasn’t our man after all,” Phryne whispered towards Jack, who was looking over her shoulder, too close for comfort and yet not quite close enough.

“Very observant, Miss Fisher,” he mumbled back with a small smile.

Nobody paid any mind to them.

“You will pay for this, Verdi,” Papa Antonio spat. “And if you touched one hair on my Concetta’s head I cut you personally into small pieces for the rats.”

Stefano Verdi laughed at this heartily, with a fake edge that wasn’t missed by the lady detective crouching only two metres from him. Hectic whispers between two others blew over to their hiding place. The thugs were scared. They were trapped and outnumbered. But, staring at the weapons still raised in their vague direction by Strano’s men, they weren’t the only ones who wouldn’t leave this church alive if the two groups of mobsters began a shoot-out.

“Look at you, old man. So very worried about your children. And they hate you for it,” Verdi taunted.

Strano pressed his lips together in a bid to hold onto some calmness.

“Concetta? Vincenzo?” he called. The siblings rose from behind the pulpit.

“We are fine, Papa,” Concetta called. “Be careful!”

Then everything happened really quickly. Jack sensed it more than saw it, one of Verdi’s men ripped his gun around to fire at the pulpit. With a cry Jack sprang to his feet and did the only thing his empty revolver was good for. He hurled it at the attacker. A salve of shoots buried itself into the church wall. Miss Fisher used the chaos for her own agenda. 26 guns were ripped up, ready to turn the church into a Swiss cheese, then the simple cocking of a small golden pistol sounded through the resulting silence.

“Drop your weapons, or I’ll put a hole into his head,” Phryne said coldly. Verdi’s smile froze as the cool metal pressed against the back of his skull. The rest of his men seemed also less eager to proceed.

“Miss Fisher, of course!” Strano called, with a strange sort of fond anger.

Papa Antonio. You made it just in time,” she called back. Phryne wouldn’t admit it to herself, but her hands were trembling. If Strano chose to get rid of her along with everybody else, he certainly had the means to.

“Come on then, gentlemen,” she urged, when the other thugs still stood, uncertain what to do.

“Please, no,” a voice begged. Jack started, as he noted that Concetta’s niece had crawled out of her hiding place. Now Sophie was walking towards the altar with her palms raised. “Please, do not shoot him.”

That certainly explained a lot.

“It’s entirely up to him,” Miss Fisher said, then added quieter: “What will it be?”

“You can have no bullets left,” Verdi brought out between gritted teeth. Phryne smiled grimly.

“Are you willing to bet your life on it?”

Breathless silence fell. Then, with a jerky nod to his men, six riffles and a collection of smaller firearms hit the church floor. Within seconds they were surrounded by Strano’s men. When Phryne turned, exhaustion beginning to settle in as the tension flowed away, she watched Concetta fling herself into Jack’s arms and kiss him. Oh, God. She’d forgotten. But only moment later the bride peeled herself away from her groom.

“Where’s Alessandro Bricelli?” she asked the surrounding men.

“Concetta,” Strano asked, opening his arms. She hesitated for the briefest of moments, then hugged him tightly to herself. “Grazie,” she whispered, just barely audible for everybody else.

“Will you come for dinner tonight, with your brother?” Strano asked quietly. “And your husband, if you must?” He glanced at Jack in a mixture of annoyance and resignation. She nodded.

“Si. But now I must find Sandro. He is hurt.”

“I am here,” a voice said behind her. There Alessandro Bricelli stood, a woman’s handkerchief wrapped around the wound on his arm, with a tiny D.W. embroidered into the corner. It seemed vaguely familiar to Miss Fisher.

“Is it very bad?” Concetta asked, carefully touching the make-shift bandage with her fingertips. Alessandro sucked a sharp breath through his teeth.

“No, not so bad,” he lied.

Miss Fisher watched the pair with mixed feelings. Cec hurried towards her through the thick crowd.

“We’re gonna cart the injured fellow to the hospital, Miss,” he said. “He’s still breathing, but not much longer if I’m any judge.”

“Thank you, Cec,” she said, smiling thinly. At least Bert might not have killed a man today after all, so that was one upside.

She felt Jack’s presence beside her.

“And there I think we have the answer as to how Verdi found out,” Miss Fisher said quietly, as she saw Sophie Strano throwing herself sobbing at the bound man’s chest. “Thwarted love.”

“It tends to clouds the best men’s judgment,” the Inspector said quietly, then added with a glance: “And best women’s.”

“Is that so, Jack?” Phryne asked quietly, then realised that his attention had shifted.

“Strano,” he called after the padrino as his men prepared to escort a very angry Verdi from the church. “I expect he will be turned in at City South Police Station? I wouldn’t want to fish him from the Yarra in the morning.”

Strano turned.

“Do not worry, he will be in your cells in the morning. Io prometto. And he will sign a confession that he tried to ruin my business by mixing my cocaine with poison, too.”

“And one for Marco Bricelli’s murder?” the Inspector asked, smiling.

“Si.”

Antonio Strano doffed his hat and left the church along with his men and their prisoners. Dishevelled guests finally dared clamber from between the benches, dusting themselves off. Chatter sat in, covering the quiet conversation near the altar.

“It seems a little easy, doesn’t it?” Miss Fisher stated carefully.

“Don’t worry, he will expect some compensation.”

“Maybe a little blindness in regards to his moonlighting as a pharmacist?” Phryne asked, tilting her head. Jack grinned.

“If it gets Verdi behind bars, I might consider a touch of blurred vision, Miss Fisher,” he said.

They stood in companionable silence for a moment.

“I hope your love is worth the complications,” Phryne said, indicating Concetta, who was currently re-bandaging Alessandro’s wound. Miss Fisher didn’t receive an answer. When she looked up, she realised that Jack’s mood had palpably shifted. He grasped her hand, holding it in his and for a moment he seemed unable to speak.

“I am such a fool, Miss Fisher,” she finally ground out, his eyes dark and intense on her, as if she was the only thing in the world that mattered. Her heart sped up, but she didn’t allow herself to show what she felt.

“Admittedly the decision to marry into the Camorra was not your brightest hour,” she smiled.

The pressure around her fingers tightened as he struggled with himself.

“That is not what I meant,” he whispered.

“Now that we have sorted this slight mishap, save a few bullet holes to my church,” Father Lorenzo interrupted their conversation, his voice upbeat, if still shaky. “Shall we continue the ceremony?”

Jack shared a look with his bride, who had blood on her fingers. Dorothy Williams stood behind her, ready to help her clean up whenever she could tear herself away.

“There is still time to elope,” Phryne smiled beside him.

Jack dropped his eyes.

“To abandon a bride at the altar would be beyond anything that can be forgiven,” he whispered. Phryne stubbornly held onto his hand.

“You are an honourable man, Jack. But sometimes we need to do what is uncomfortable to do what is right,” she echoed earlier words.

“And what _is_ right, Phryne?” he asked, desperation colouring his voice.

She didn’t get to answer. Concetta approached, pointedly took his hand and led him away from Miss Fisher. But when Father Lorenzo attempted to steer them towards the altar, she waved him away.

“I love you, Gianni,” Concetta began, clutching his hands in an iron grasp, “Very much. But I do not wish to be a compromise.”

He opened his mouth to answer, but she shushed him with the tip of her finger.

“A woman once told me it is impossible to know a man’s heart… I do not believe it to be true. I know your heart, Gianni. It took me a long time, but I do now.”

Frantic whispers rose around the couple as their audience caught on. Miss Fisher felt Dot slip beside her, touch her arm as if to reassure her.  
“I’m so sorry,” Jack said, his voice rough with emotion.

“Do not worry yourself.” Concetta glanced at Alessandro, who watched the exchange with tears in his eyes. “I believe I will be fine.” She leaned in, brushing a kiss to the Inspector’s cheek. Phryne could see her whispering something into his ear, but she couldn’t make out the words. It was just as well. Miss Fisher stood, stunned, as Concetta released her groom, left the church on Alessandro’s arm with a last look at her thwarted groom. Other confused wedding guests followed them.

Jack was a free man!

Miss Fisher felt faint, like her knees would give way at any moment.

“Miss,” Dorothy asked beside her. “Shall we go home?”

“Will you wait in the car for me, please,” Phryne said quietly. Dot left with a worried look at the Inspector who still stood at the altar, alone in the world. Miss Fisher approached carefully, her hand gently brushing his back as to not startle him.

“I’m sorry, Jack,” she said. He looked like he wasn’t sure what to think or feel.

“Would you mind if I say I don’t believe you?” he asked. She smiled.

“I am sorry that you will not have your quiet house in the countryside and a wife who will cook for you,” she said. “As I can provide neither.”

She wasn’t wholly able to keep the bitterness from her voice. What she truly wanted to say, however, remained unspoken.

The Inspector tore his eyes from whatever sphere he had been staring into and finally looked at her.

“Concetta is right on one account,” he said with a smile. “It is impossible to know a man’s heart entirely. Even for you, Miss Fisher.”

“Is that so, Jack?” she asked, moving a little closer. He looked down at her, with eyes full of warmth and love and her heart made a somersault in her chest. Maybe the wounds would take a little while to heal, but they would. There was no doubt about it.

“Absolutely, Miss Fisher.”

“So,” she said, a cheeky thought flashing through her mind, “if I’d point out that we are alone in a church with a priest and a lot of flowers, you wouldn’t be tempted?” She grinned. The Inspectors warm arm snaked around her, pulling her in. His heat bled through the many layers separating them, making her want to purr with delight.

“I’m tempted by many things,” Jack said, his lips now so close that she could feel his warm breath brushing over her face. “But matrimony is currently not one of them.”

“That’s good to know,” Miss Fisher smiled. Her heart beat fluttered against her ribcage as she realised he wasn’t backing down. Jack’s eyes flickered to her lips, then back up. His pupils where huge from this angle, almost turning his irises black.

“Thank you,” he breathed.

“For?”

“Rescuing me.”

Jack didn’t give her any chance to contemplate his meaning further. His lips were on hers, soft and sweet and oh, so very hot. Sparks danced along her spine, his palms leaving burning trails on her dress wherever they touched. Phryne pulled him closer, deepened the kiss, in desperate need to feel him, breathe him in. His warm hands told her that he wasn’t going anywhere at all, and she moaned into his mouth as they reached her hips with intent...

A loud cough broke them apart and they breathlessly resurfaced, stared at each other, then in unison turned their heads to where Father Lorenzo was mopping the blood off the floorboards before his morning mass.

“May I recommend some privacy?” the young priest asked, without looking up from his task. A deep flush spread over the Inspector’s neck, already creeping up to his cheeks, but Phryne took his hand firmly into hers, not allowing him to slip away yet again.   
“That is an excellent idea,” she simpered, pulling her Inspector after herself down the aisle and out into the bright Melbourne morning. Just before the door fell shut, she could hear the priest return to his work, whistling a small melody.


End file.
